Select English poems : with Gaelic translations; arranged on opposite pages; also, several pieces of original Gaelic poetry. [First] - second series

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SELECT ENGLISH POEMS

WITH

GAELIC TRANSLATE

ARRANGED ON OPPOSITE PAGES ;

ALSO, SEVERAL PIECES OF

ORIGINAL GAELIC POETRY.

CWrst

COMPILED BY

ARCHIBALD SINCLAIR

GLASGOW:

ARCHIBALD SINCLAIR, 62 ARGYLE STREET,
MACLACHLAN & STEWART, E))IX!5IH(;}I .

AND OTHER BOOK-SE LLK HS.

MDCCCLXII.

t£A

INTRODUCTION.

WE will always feel grateful to Dr Norman M'Leod of St. Co-
lumba Church, and to the many warm-hearted and accomplish-
ed gentlemen, who have so ably assisted him in preparing the
useful Miscellanies which have been circulated from time to tune
among the Highlanders. The good these publications have been
the means of doing is incalculable. They have, however, ceased
to circulate for many years past ; and unfortunately, Highland-
ers now have no means of holding that intercourse of which
they are so fond, in their own vernacular. These periodicals are
now out of print, and in all probability the next generation will
not know anything about them but the name. It often occurred
to us that a Selection from the poetical effusions, both original
and translated, given in these periodicals, would be found inter-
esting : and besides, that such a compilation would serve as a
Remembrancer of these Miscellanies, in the absence of anything
more substantial being put on record. Tt also occurred to us that
if it were possible to find out the English originals and to print
them along with the translations on parallel pages it would make
such a publication more interesting still. We have set about this
task sometime ago, and what follows is the result. If our read-
ers will derive as much satisfaction from perusing this volume
as we had from compiling it, they will be sufficiently rewarded.
We cannot describe the pleasure and instruction we derived from
coning over these translations and comparing them with their
originals. Many of the pieces are associated in our mind with the
very dawn of our mental improvement — with the time when we
began to appreciate literature of any kind. It is interesting to
observe the taste displayed by the various translators ; not only
in the execution of their work, but also in their selection of on-

finals. Wo trust that the reader will kindly overlook the want
ol arrangi -merit, or classification of subjects, which could not be

led to under the circumstances, as the matter was put in
type when the original of any of the pieces would cast up. Con-
sequently, many superior pieces that would, under other circum-

• s, be among the first, are here among the last. However,
if a second Edition shall be called for these deficiencies, with
many other overlooks, will be put to right.

We have much pleasure in acknowledging the readiness with
which all the gentlemen to whom we have applied for informa-
tion, regarding either originals or translations, have responded
to our request. To Dr C. R. M'Gillivray we offer our special
thanks for his efficient assistance in putting the work through
the press.

If this undertaking will meet with an ordinary degree of suc-
cess, our readers may look, at some future period, for a second
volume. We trust, therefore, that those of them who have ability
for translating, and the good of their countrymen at heart, will
keep this in mind, and forward their pieces to the Publisher at
their earliest convenience : they will see by this publication the
description of pieces we wish. We believe that such compila-
tions will be of great benefit to Highland youths, both in forming
then' taste and in enriching their mind. So far as poetry is con-
cerned we have no need to draw upon the resources of any other
nation, for we have abundance of good, original poetry ; yet, in
consequence of the universal sway of the English language, any
publication that will help to open up the vast resources of its
literature, will be interesting to those who are acquiring a know-
ledge of it. Moreover, poetical translations are peculiarly suited
to develope tho rich treasures of our own language ; for a trans-
lator must exercise his mind to find terms that will convey the
meaning of tho original, and will also agree in sound with their
correspondents. Consequently, words that are totally overlooked
by G relic prose writers are, as a matter of necessity, used by
translators of poetry.

CONTENTS.

The Messiah

The Church,

The Covenanter's Dream,

Against Avarice,

Mortality,

Caste and Christ,

The Slave Market,

The Murdered Slave,

The Broken Heart Healed,

The Hymn of Cleanthes,

The Forty-fifth Psalm Paraphrased

Echo's Answer,

The Field Flowers, .

Duart Castle, ,

My Mother,

Alexander Selkirk,

Destruction of the Assyrians,

Lavinia, . . .

Sabbath Morning,

The Sabbath,

The Voice of Divine Compassion,

Culloden,

The Golden Age,

The Beggar's Petition,

Afar in the Desert.

The Cuckoo,

Burial of Sir John Moore,

Glenara,

The Mariners of England.

Adam and Eve, .

Exile of Erin,

Bruce's Address,

Elegy on Mrs M'Kinnon, 1

The Mercies of God,

The Heavenly Canaan,

The Bible, .

The Hundredth Psalm, Long Metre,

Hypocrisy, .

Author

Translator Page

Tope

E. M'Lachlan 2

Dr M'Gillvray

Dr N. M'Leod 6

Hislop

J. Clerk 1-'

St Columba 0}

A. M'Fadyen 14

Knox

Compiler 18

Mrs Stowe

D. M'Dougall 20

Anonymous

A. M'Fadyen 24

. Anonymous

Do. 26

Craig

Compiler 26

(

A. M'Fadyen 28

hrased,

Rev A. Macintyre 32

Anonymous

Compiler 36

Campbell

J. Clerk 36

Drj. M'Leod

Dr N. M'Leod 83

Ann Taylor

Do 40

Cowper

J. Clerk 42

Byron

Anonymous 46

. Thoirson

Dr N. M'Leod 46

Graham

Do 48

Do

E. M'Lachlan 50

ission, Anonymous

Anonymous 5 1

Dr N. M'Leod

P. M'Naughton 56

Ovid

Rev A. Macintyre 58

i . Moss

Anonymous 58

Pringle

R. M'Dougall 62

Logan

Dr N. M Leod 64

Wolf

Do 66

Campbell

Do 68

Do

Rev A. Macintyre 70

Do

Lachlan M'Lean 72

Do

Anonymous 74

, . Burns

Rev A. Macintyre 76

i-Augustus, Anonymous

Anonymous 78

. . Anonymous

Compiler 80

Anonymous

A. M'Fadyen 82

Montgomery

Do 82

g Metre,

Rev A. Macintyre 84

Cowper

Anonymous 86

0> This Poem was translated into English from the Latin of St Columba, by
the late Dr John Smith of Campbelton.

CONTENTS.

Human Life,

Paradise Lost,

The Ruins of Babylon,'

David's Lamentation over Saul, «tc.

Confidence in God,

Spring

African Hospitality,

The Star of Bethlehem,

The Fountain Opened, ,

Where is Happiness ?

The Providence of God,

Begone Unbelief, . .

Abolition of West Indian Slavery,

i i or 's at the Helm,
Cradle Hymn, ,

The Goodness of God, . ,

The Farmer,
The Resurrection,
Christ's Kingdom,
The Saviour,
The Song of Moses,
The Hour of Death.
The Islander's Guiding Star.
Zion Comforted under her Afflictions,
Christ stilling the Tempest,
Paul's Voyage to Rome,
Mackrimmon's Lament,
Dream — a Fragment

Author
Anonymous
Milton
Anonymous

Translator Page

D. M'Dougall 88

E. M'Lean y>
A. M'Fadyen 96

Rev J. W. Wright Rev A. Macintyre 98
Anonymous J. M'Dougall; 100

Newton

J. Clerk

100

Mungo Park

Dr N. M'Leod

104

Henry K. White

Do

104

Cowper

D. M-D.,Tiree

106

Bishop Heber

Dr N. M'Leod

108

Anonymous

Do

HO

Anonymous

Anonymous

112

Mrs Garret

Rev J. Sinclair

114

Anonymous

Dr X. M'Leod

114

Watts

James Munro

116

Jane Taylor

John Munro

118

M'Henry

Anonymous

120

Watts

Dr J. Smith

120

Watts

Compiler

122

Anonymous

Do

124

Do

126

Hemans

Rev A. Clerk

128

Dr J. M'Leod

T. Pattison

1-30

Grant

Compiler

132

Anonymous

Rev J. Sinclair

132

Newton

J. Clerk

136

Mackrimmon

Sir Walter Scott

138

Anonymous

Compiler

140

ORIGINAL PIECES.

Trust in God,

Hymn,

Hymn,

Where is Misery?

The Highlander in a Foreign Land,

Expatriation of Highlanders,

The Subbath Bell,

The Rainbow,

The Bible, .

Spring,

Certificate to an aged Highlander,

The Shortness of Human Life,

The Hot Wells of Carlsbad,

Hymn in praise of the Creator,

The Birth of Christ,

Dr John M'Leod

Do

Do

Do

Dr N. M'Leod
RevD. M'Lean

Do

Do

Do
Dr N. M'Leod

Do

Do

Do

Rev A, Macintyre
Anonymous

141
142
143
143
144
145
146
147
148
]51
152
153
154
155
156

SELECT

ENGLISH POEMS

WITH

GJ1LIC TRANSLATIONS.

THE MESSIAH.

Ye nymphs of Solyma ! begin the song,
To heavenly themes sublimer strains belong,
The mossy fountains, and the sylvan shades,
The dreams oi'Pindus, and the Aonian maids,
J)< -light no more — O thou my voice inspire,
Who touch'd Isaiah's hallow'd lips with fire!

Kapt into future times, the bard begun,
A Virgin shall conceive, a Virgin bear a son !
From Jesse's root behold a branch arise,
Whose sacred flow'r with fragrance fills the skies,
The Holy Spirit o'er its leaves shall move,
And on its top descends the mystic dove.
Ye heav'ns from high the dewy nectar pour,
And in soft silence shed the kindly show'r !
The sick and weak, the healing plant shall aid,
From storms a shelter, and from heat a shade.
All crimes shall cease, and ancient fraud shall fail,
Returning justice lift aloft her scale ;
Peace o'er the world her olive wand extend,
And white rob'd innocence from heaven descend.

Swift 11 y the years, and rise the expected morn !
Oh spring to light, auspicious, Babe be born !
See ! nature hastes, her earliest wreaths to bring,
With all the incense of the breathing spring !
See lofty Lebanon his head advance,
See nodding forests on the mountains dance :
See spicy clouds from lowly Sharon rise !
And Carmel'a ilow'ry top perfumes the skies.
Hark ! a glad voice the lonely desert cheers :
Prepare the way! a God, a God appears ;
A God, a God ! the vocal hills reply,
The rocks proclaim th' approaching deity.
Lo earth receives him from the bending skies ;
Sink down ye mountains, and ye vallies rise ;
With heads declin'd ye cedars homage pay ;
Be smooth ye rocks, ye rapid floods give way !
The Saviour comes ! by ancient bards foretold :
Hear him y<; deaf, and all ye blind, behold ;
Ho from thick films .shall purge the visual ray,
And on the sightless eye-ball pour the day.
'Tis he th' obstructed paths of sound shall clear,
And bid in-w music charm th' unfolding ear ;
The dumb thall sing, the lame his crutch forego,

AM ME SI A II.

A nighneanan Shaleim ! tionnsgnaibh oran reidh,
*S na puinnc is uirde gluaisear dan nan speur,
Na fuarain bhlair, i'o sgail nan gorm-choUl ur.
'.S na bruadair Ghreagaob, thoicli gu loir fo'roul.
A Righ thug cail do'n Fhaidhe ghieu&adh ceoil !
Le eibhleig naoimh, cuir blaths an l.ioidh mo bheoil.

Mu linn na slainte sheinri am Bard ochian ;
Bidh Mac aig Oigh — aig Oigh is torrach siol ;
O fhreumhaich lessc faic le teas a' fas
A suas san speur a' Gheug is eubhraidh Math !
Bidh Spiorad De 'g a ghluasad fein m'a ban* ;
'S an dos neo-sheargta tearnaidh Calamau Neamh.
Silibh a neoil an dealt o'n aird gu dluth,
Trom-shamhach, maoth-bhog, frasach, braonach, ciuin !
'S ami duibhs' tha an-f hann, tinn, gun neart, gun treoir,
A bhruchdas driuchd na slaint' air bharr gacli meoir ;
Le tamh fo 'sgaii gu brath cha loisg a' ghriau,
'S o stoirm nan gaoth ni'm fasgadh caomh 'ur dion. .
Treigidh an t-olc, 'sgach ceilg a lot an sluagh,
'S air sligho 'pheacaidh coisnidh ceartas buaidh ;
Bidh Oilibh ghrais na siochaimh sinnt' a inach,
'S thig neo-chiont aigh o neamh san deis' is aille dreach.

A linntean fada siubhlaibh seach gu luath !
Grad eireadh fiainh na maidne 'nios o'u chuan,
A bheir gu crich do bhreith-sa — High nan slogh.
O ! Leinibh uasail ! duisg a suas gu d' ghloir ;
Faic Nadurfein, 'sgach flur an ceud am fais
Fo chomhdach eibhinn ! mil a' seideadh tlath !
Faic Lebanon gu h-ai\l mar thog e cheaun,
'S gach dos-chj-ann ard 's na coilltibh aigh a' danns1 —
Faic smiiidreadh spisridh Sharoin suas 's na neoil,
A's Charmeil ur nan seud is druchdach ceo !
Nach cluinn thu luath-ghair ait san f hasach chein,
Thig Dia, thig Dia g'ar coir ! gach rod biodli reidh !
Thig Dia, thig Dia ! co-fhreagraidh fuahn nam beann !
Gach creag ni gair m'an Ti is airde t' aim !
Tha'n saoghal ag eiridli : lub an speur a nios,
Gach ni le gradh 'cur failt air teachd an Triath !
Na seudair riomhach cromaidh sios an ceann !
Fodha na sleibhtean ! eireadh lar nan gleann !
Gach creag biodh mm ! biodh sith air tliuiltibh luath
Roimh sholus gnuiso Slanuighir chiuin nam buadh !
Faicoadh na doill ! a bhodhair cluinn do Dhia !
Sud Righ naugras mar sheinn na Baird o chian ;

And leap exulting like the bounding roe ;

No sigh, no murmur, the wide world shall hear ;

From every face, he wipes off every tear.

In adamantine chains shall death be bound,

And hell's grim tyrant feel the eternal wound.

As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care,
Seeks freshest pasture, and the purest air ;
Explores the lost, the wandering sheep directs,
By day o'ersees them, and by night protects,
The tender lambs he raises in his arms,
Feeds from his hand, and in his bosom warms :
Thus shall mankind his guardian care engage,
The promis'd Father of the future age.
No more shall nation against nation rise,
Nor ardent warriors meet with hateful eyes.
Nor fields with gleaming steel be covered o'er,
The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more ;
But useless lances into scythes sh^ll bend,
And the broad falchion in a ploughshare end.
Then palaces shall rise; the joyful son
Shall finish what his short liv'd sire begun ;
Their vines a shadow to their race shall yield,
And the same hand that sowed, shall reap the field.
The swain in barren deserts with surprise
Sees lilies spring, and sudden verdure rise;
And starts amidst the thirsty wilds to hear
New falls of water murmuring in his ear.
On rifted rocks, the dragons' Lite abodes,
The green reed trembles,and the bulrush nods
Waste sandy vallies, once perplex'd with thorn,
The spiry fir and shapely box adorn:
To leafless shrubs the flowering palms succeed,
And odorous myrtle to the noisome weed.
The lambs with wolves shall graze the verdant mead,
And boys in flow'ry bands the tiger lead.
The steer and lion at one crib shall meet,
And harmless serpents lick the pilgrim's feet.
The smiling infant in his hand shall take
The crested basilisk and speckled snake;
Pleas'd the green lustre of their scales survey,
And with their forky tongue shall innocently play.

Rise crowned with light, imperial Salem rise I
Exalt thy towcry head, and lift thine eyes :
See a long race thy spacious courts adorn;
See future sons and daughters yet unborn;
In crowding ranks on ev'ry side arise,
Demanding life, impatient for the skies !
See barbarous nations at thy gates attend,

Fdgraidh e 'n oidhche dhuibhreach o gacli suil,

A's chi na doill a' Ghrian is boillsgeil iul ;

Grad fhosglaiclli fhaca) toll na claisneachd suas ;

'So cho-sheinn ciuil thig solas ur do'n chluais.

Bidh teang' a' bdlbhnin deas a dhealbh nan rann,

'S mar mhang nan stuchd gu'n leum an cmbach mall.

Cha chluinncar eubh na osnaich chraidh ni's mo,

'S o ghruaidh gach creutair suathar deur a' bhroin ;

An geimhlibh praise glaisear suas am bas,

'S gheibh prionns' an t-sluichd an lot nacli duin gu brith.

Mar bhiathas Aodhair f'eumail treud nan rusg
'Snaldin is fearr tha las fo'n bhlath-ghaoith chiuin,
Shireas le sul-bheachd durachd na th'air chall,
'S a ghleidheas each o thriall roi' raidean cam ;
*N uair bhruchdas sgail an dorcha 's e ni'n dion,
'S an taic san la, ged chaochlas ardan shion ;
Thogas na h-uain na 'uchd g'an cumail blath,
Toirt doibh gu caomh nam fann-lus maoth o laimh ;
Mar sud ni Ti nan gras a ghealladh dhuinu
Ar dion gu brath le aitlin' is grasmhor iul.
Cha ghluais na sloigh ni's mo gu comhrag arm ;
'S na gaisgich threun cha chath ri cheil' am feirg ;
Co-ghair nan trompaid phrais cha chluinnear ann ;
An t-sleagh no chruaidh cha bhoisg an stri nan lann ;
Cromar gu speala feoir an gath gun f heum,
'Sgu sochd a"1 chroinn bidh ruinn a' chlaidhimh gheir.
Grad-eiridh aitribh nasal suas 's gach tir,
'S na thiounsgdin athair bheir am mac gu crlch.
Sgaoilidh an fhionaiu ard a dosrach gheug
Fo iomlan blath mar sgail do'n t-sliochd 'na dheigh :
Na lamhan fial a sgap an siol san f honn,
Gu'm buaiu an t-arbhar sguabach, reachd'or, trom ;
A's chi ua buachaillean gach cruaidh dhruim fais
Ur-bhog le feur, 's le liligh 's ceutach barr.
Le loghnadh eibhinn eisdidh iad ri toirm
An uisgo 'steallraich feadh nan craim-chreag garbh.
Mu nead na nathrach bais bu chraitich beum,
Tha chuilc air chrith, 's an luachair thric na deigh.
'S a' ghleann bha 'fas fo bhair do'n sgitheach dhoirbh
Tha 'in bocsa grinn 's an giuthas sniomhain, gorm.
An aite chuiseag sheasg, a's luibhean searbh,
Ni 'miortal fas, 's am pailm is aillidh dealbh.
Bidh iarmad sgrios a' inhadaidh-allaidh ghairg,
'S na h-uain 'nam measg ag ith' air slios gach leirg :
Caillidh an Tiger guineach, ciurach 'f hearg,
'S an srein nam tlur do chloinn cha diult e f'albh :
Ni'n damh 's an leomhann aig aon phrasaich tainh,
'*S b'idh naith'r gun bheum ri cois fir-cheilidh tlath.

Walk in thy light, and in thy temple bend ;

See thy bright altars throng'd with prostrate kings,

And lnMp*d with products of Sabsean springs!

For thee Idume's spicy forests blow,

And seeds of gold in Ophir's mountains glow.

See heav'n its sparkling portals wide display,

And break upon thee in a flood of day !

No more the rising sun shall gild the morn,

Nor ev'ning Cynthia fill her silver horn,

Hut lost, dissolved in thy superior rays,

One tide of glory — one unclouded blaze,

O'erllow thy courts : the Light Himself shall shine

Reveal'd, and God's eternal day be thine !

The seas shall waste — the skies in smoke decay,

Knrks fall to dust, and mountains melt away ;

.But fix'd his word, his saving pow'r remains,

Thy realm for ever lasts, thy own Messiah reigns.

THE CHURCH.*

" Many a time have they afflicted me from my youth, yet they have not
prevailed against me." — Ps. cxxlx. 2.

Nor shall they prevail! let them vaunt as they will,
For thy Saviour is great in the midst of thee still ;
And though despots to hate and to hurt thee may dare,
Thou art safe from their malice, but let them beware !

* This excellent Poem was composed by Dr W. M'Gilvray. now
of Aberdeen, and appeared in the •' Scottish Guardian" of 13th
March, 1S10. In June following-, a Gaelic traslation of it appear-
ed in the pages of the "Mountain Visitor," and in 1845 another
translation was given in the "Gaelic Witness." In order to en-
able our readers to judge of their respective merits we give them
both. The following is from the "Gaelic Witness/' —

Cheart aindeoin a bhbilich, cha soirbhich le d' namh,

Oir is treun e, 'in fear-comhnaidh tha a' d' raheadhou a' tamh;

Lan-thearuint' tha thusa o fholachd's o fhuath, —

Tha agad-sa cul-taic an latha do chruais.

Air di-chuimhn' na leig-sa na laithean o chian,
'S'n uair chaisgeadh do naiinhdean, hha aingealta, dian;
Bi sensmhach, bi granmil, oir cunnairt ma th' ann,
Cha dhuit-se fath eagail, aeh do d' eascaraid dall.

Ort shaltair an Eiphit gu h-cucoireach, cruaidh ;
Ach dhiol i na fiachtui uu leir 'sa' Mhuir Ruaidh,—
IS'a cuantan a dli'fhosgail (limits' cos-cheum gu truigh,
lihriichd— thaom iad le dosguun, 's gun phlosg feuch do namh.

Togaidh an leanaban ciche 'bheisd o'n Idr,

'S i bheithir bhreac a chlcachd an ruinn-ghath bais ;

Le gair thoil-inntinn chi o lith nan lann,

'S m'an teangaidh ghobhlaich cluichidh an t-6g gun f heall.

A Bhan-righ SHALEIM! arduich gloir do chruin !
Am Morachd t-uailse tog a suas do shuil !
A'd' chuirtibh rioirhail seall na mil to sloigb,
'Sua h-ail nacb d'thainig, 'saill loo tcachd a'd' choir!
Tha linn air linn a' tairgs' am breith gun dail,
Gun f husgais gus am faic iad soills' an Id ;
An sliochd gun chunntas seall tu 'dusgadh suas,
Thoirt modh do'n Ribhinn aigh is dillidh snuagh !
Gabh beachd air feachd nan rioghachd fad o laimh,
Air ghluinibh lubt' ag iirnuigh 'd' theampull aigh !
'S na ceudan righ a' tuiteam sios gu dluth,
'S gu'n diol iad iobairt cheart do Thi nan dul !
Nach seall thu 'n luchd th'air t-altaireau gun smal,
Do'n spiosraidh phriseil thig o'n dwLan-Ear !
Tha dosraich Edom dhuits' a' seideadh blath,
'S do dhearg an oir tha sleibhtean Ophir lau.
Seall ! Geata boisgeil rionnagach nan speur
A' fosgladh suas ort ! sud a' ghloir nach treig !
'S a' mhaduinn chiuin ni's mo cha dealraich grian,
'S cha'n eirich gealach sheimh fo sgail nan nial ;
Grad bhruchdaidh tuiltean soillse 'nuas o'n aird ;
Lan-dealraidh sruth na gloir a'd' chiiirt gach trath!
Mud' thimchioll dearsaidh aird an t-Soluis Fhein;
'S gu saoghal nan saoghal gur leatsa la do Dhe !
Ni'n f hairge triall, 's an iarmalt theid 'na smuidj
Gun leagh na sleibhtean as mar cheir roi' 'Ghnuis ;
Na creagan siorruidh tuitidh sios 'naniiir;
Ach seasaidh firinn dhileas ixigh nan dul !
Riaghlaidh tu fein 's Mesiah 'u eibhneas neamh,
'S air gloir 'ur rioghachd ni'm faicear crioch gu brath.

AN EAGLAIS.

" Bu trie a chraidh iad mi o nT oige, gidheadh cha d' thug iad buaidh.
Salm cxxix. 2.

'S cha bhuadhaich a chaoidh ; a dh 'aindeoin an uaill,
Air do thaobhsa tha losa, ceannard nam buadh:
Ged a dh' eireadh gach namhaid, ag iarraidh do sgrips.
Tha thu tearuint' o'n gamhlas — 's aim doibhsan is inios',

8

Remember thy struggles— remember thy strength :
What foe cvor touched thee and triumphed at length ?
Stand fast then, and fear not, if peril there be,
The peril is theirs* who fight against thee.

Proud Pharaoh oppressed thee, and what did he reap T
A coffinless grave in the heart of the deep !
The sea which fell back to afford thee a path.
Rushed down on the head of that vessel of wrath !

False Canaan oppressed thee ; and what did she gain ?
Her fields were made fat with the blood of her slain ; —
While they that escaped from the edge of her sword,
Like Cain were pnrsued by the curse of the Lord !

The Assyrian oppressed thee ; and how did he speed ?
His monarchs were doomed with the cattle to feed,
His land was invaded, his empire cast down,
And the Persian made prize of his kingdom and crown !

Chlaoidh Canan thu tamull, 'sdha b'aithreach gu'n d'rinn;
Oir thuit e, le 'mhacaibh, fo d' shleagh a's fo d' lamn ;
"Sa'chuid nach do thuit diubh fo chudthrom do bheum',
Dhian-ruaigeadh gun stad iad fo mhallachd do Dhe.

Rinn Asiria ort fbirncart.'s bu ghbrach sud dha,

Oir spuinneadh d' a ghlbir e, 's d' a mbbr-chuis, cbion-fa ;

A dbutliaieh thur-chrcachadh— dh' eug a mhacnus 's a rnhuirn,

'S mar a dhuais ghlac mmPersach abheartas's a chrun.

Dhian lean tbu an t-Iudbach, an run do chur sins

Ged rugadh e d' chuirtibh, 's ged 's tu thug dha cioch;

'S nach soilleir 's na truaighibh tha 'g a ruagadh gun tamh,

Gu 'n d' thug Flaithcanas fuath do ghuioinh uabhair a lamh.

Rinn an Geintileach doillcir,'s ard sgoileir na Greig'
Ort an fhbirneart bu sboilleir' dol an co-bhoinn a cheil';
'S gu h-obunn am mbr chuis 's an glbir dhealaich uath',
Ged b' inbheach an airde, toirt barr air gacli sluagh.

Dh'iadh uuiad a liontan baobh stnopach na Rbimh',
A's dhuisg i dhuit mi-run mhbr righrean a's shlbgh;'
Do thearmunn b' e 'm fasach 'n am d' amhghair 's do stri,
O nuimhdeas an dragoin bha ghnath air do thi.

A cuinng bharr do mhuineil do thilg thu gu lar,

A's iniisg thu dhith 'n f halluincr a dh'fholaich a nair; —

A srannraich na cuireadh ort eagal no fiamh,

Tha a ceanu air a bhruthadh, 's a cumhachd air triall.

Mo thruaighc gur fior e ! an tir so an aigh,
Gu 'n d' f huaireas luchd mi ruin rinn stri riut gun bhaigh;
Rinn gairdean luchd fbirnt-irt do lebnadh gu cruaidh, —
T' f huil chraobhach a dhbrtadh, gun sbradh, gun truas.

9

Cuimhnich thusa do chomhstri, cum cuimlm' air do thredir,
Co'n namhaid a bhuail thu 's a bhuadhaich fa-dheoidh ?
Bi daingeann gun eagal, oir gabhadh no bron,
Thig sin air an cinu-san tha 'g iarraidh do leon.

Lean Pharaoh le 'shluagh thu, ach ciod i a dhuais?
Ann am buillsgein na fairge f huair iadsan an uaigh ;
Sgoilt an cuan air do shon-s' agus sheas air gach /aimh,
Ach mar bhras-bhuinne geamhraidh bhrist sios air do naimh,

Rinn muinntir Chanaain do leireadh gu truagh,
Ach dhioghail iad fein air an aimhleas gu luath ;
Fo f haobhar a' chlaidheimh thuit miltean san ar,
'S lean mallachd o Dhia iad, a sheachain am bas.

Ohlaoidh an t-Asirianach thusa gu geur,
Ach thuit an cuid righrean gu ithe do'n f hour ;
Thug Cyrus an coroin 's am morachd an sas,
Le claidheamh a's teine an riogh'chd chuir e fas.

Feadh gharbhlach an t-sleibhe 's air rcidhlein nam bcann,
Chaidh t' ioinain 's do ruagadh gu cruaidh a's gu teann;
'S trie a tharruing thu 'n osnadh 's an t slochd ' s anns a' chuil,
'S trie bu bhriste do chridhe, 's bu shnidheach do shuil.

Ach, dh'fhiosraich la saors' thu, a's faothachadh f huair
As shiabadh 'n deur-chruidh a bha blatb air do ghruaidh ;
•S do naimhdean bha 'n cuinhachd 's an urram ro-mhor,
Thur-chrion agus sheac iad, a's chreachadh d' an gloir.

Cia nise futh t' eagal; gach aon gheilt cuir air chul;
Leig do thaic air a' ghairdean tha a' taradh dhuit dluth ;
An aghaidh an Ard-Righ co a dh'ardaich a chri—
Nach do lotadh gu bas e, an arach na stri ?

Ged iadh umad naimhdean tha aiugealta, treun,
Ged 's alluidh an sealladh, ged 's eaugarra 'm beum;
Na caill-sa do nihisneach,oir is sgeul e tha nor,
Buaidh-lurachcha choisinn iad ortsa gu sior.

Ged bheucadh na cuantan is gruamaiche colg,

'S do charraig ged bhuail iad gu fuaimeanta, borb j

Air an ais 'D uair a shileas 's a philleas iad sios,

Tha do charraig-sa seasmhach, — 's bidh seasmhach gu sior.

Oigh Shioin, glac misneach, 's na diobair do Thriath ;

'S e 'f hocal do sholus, — a dhilseachd do sgiath ; —

Do bhabhuinn cha tuislieh, 's cha tuit iad gu lar,

'S a chaoidh bheir iad dubhlan do chuuihachd gach namh.

Theid neamh agus talarah tur thairis le cheil',
'S luchd-riaghlaidh a's riaghailtean talmhaidh gu leir
Ach beannachd no souhair a gheall e dhuit riamh,
Cha diobair, ach coiinhlionaidh, 'n Tighearn do Dhia.

10

The Jews they oppressed theo : with jealousy fired
Tkine own foster-children against thee conspired ;
And the vengeance that followed their treacherous crime
Remains yet unmatched in the annals of time.

The Gentiles oppressed thee ; the Iloman, the Greek,
Combined to destroy thee when thou wast but weak ;
And though foremost in fame, and unrivalled in power,
Their glory departed from that very hour !

The monster that mocked thee, the Harlot of Rome ;
That dared thy pure name, and thy rights to assume ;
Like a wolf in sheep's clothing, stole into thy fold ;
And filled it with horrors and murders untold.

But the struggling prey from her death-grasp was torn ;
She was stripped of her mask 'mid the world's hizzing scorn ;
And the rage of her heart, though it rankle unblushed ;
Never fear, for the head of the serpent is crushed !

Alas! in the land where thy God is well known,
"Where the light of his truth has for centuries shone ;
Even there has the arm of oppression been raised,
And the fires of affliction around thee have blazed.

Thro' the moors and the mountains thy children were chased,

By bigoted tyrants thy gates were laid waste,

The dungeon re-echoed thy lonely complaints,

And the scaffold was red with the blood of thy saints.

But thy woes were avenged ; for the fatuous race
Of princes that wronged thee, with scorn and disgrace,
Were dethroned and cast forth from the soil of their birth.
And their seed has been swept from the face of the earth !

Why fearest thou then ? what hast thou to dread ?
Thus preserved by the might of thy glorious Head : —
Canst thou think of one foe that against thee has striven,
But has perished beneath the just vengeance of heaven !

Still apostates will rage, and rulers will plot
To compass thy downfall, yet tremble thou not :
Afflictions and bonds they may on thee entail,
But against thee they will not, they cannot prevail !

The surges may rise, and may burst with a shock,
They may roll o'er the head of the deep-rooted rock :
But when they fall back from their swell and their roar,
The rock stands as firm as they found it before !

Great Daughter of Z ion, stand true to thy Lord !
Look up for His grace, and walk close by His word ;

11

Rinn na h-Iudhaich ort ainneart lo boile gun chiall,
*S do mhic eadhon, dh' eirich a'd' aghaidh le foill ;
Ach tha 'm mallachd a thainig a nuas air an cinn,
A' seasamh gun choimeas an eachdraidh gach linn;

Dh' iarr na Cinnich do mhilleadh le foirneart an liimh',
Luchd-aitich na Greige— luchd-aitich na Roimlr ;
Ach ainmeil mar bha iad, ghrad chaochail an gloir
O'n am anns an d' iarr iad le mi-run a'd' choir.

An uile-bheist chealgach, dearg shiursach na Roimh',
Gu dana ghlac t' ainm agus coraichean t'aigh,
Fo choltas na caorach ghoid 'stigh air do chro,
'S gbrad rinn i a lionadh le h-ainneart a's bron.

Ach spionadh a' chreach so gun taing as a glaic,
'S a gnlinealachd oillteil ghrad thugadh gu beachd ;
Ged tha fraoch-f hearg a cridhe le gamhlas ag at,
Coma dhuit-sa co dhiubh — chaidh an nathair a lot.

Mo chreach ! anns an tir sa' bheil eolas air Dia,

Agus solus an t-soisgeil a' dealradh gu fial :

Seadh ! eadhon an sin chlaoidh iad thusa gu cruaidh,

A's dh' f heuch iad do mhilleadh le deuchainnibh truagh.

Feadh gharbhlach na beinne do ruag iad do chlann,
Do naomh-thighean leag iad, le foirneart an lann ;
*S e daingneaeh a phriosain a f huair thu o d'naimh,
*S tha 'cliroich air a deargadh le fuil do chuid daimh.

Ach dh' f huiling do naimhdean, a's dh' fhuiling an sliochd,
A's dh' f hogradh gach aon diubh gun chomhuadh gun iochd
Chaochail iadsan air faontraigh, 'nan allabain thruagh,
0 dhuthaich an sinnsear, gun iomradh gun luaidh.

Com tha thusa fo imcheist, no idir fo sgath?
Do Cheannard cha tivig thu a chaoidh no gu brath !
Aon namhaid cha d' eirich a' t' aghaidh-sa riamh,
Nach do shearg ann an tiota fo chorruich an Triath.

Ged dh' cireadh gach namhaid tha miannach do sgrios,
Na gabhadh iad muiseag tha 'g iarraidh do leas ;
Oir is suarnch gach icnleachd a chleachdas an daoi,
Cha bhuadhaicli a h-aon diubh a' f aghaidh-sa chaoidh,

Ged dh' cireadh an f hairge, 's ged dh' atadh an cuan,
Ged bhristeadh iad thairis air carraig nan stuagh ;
Air an ais' nuair a philleas na tonnan le gair,
Tha 'charraig 'na seasamh gu daingeann mar bha,

Do nighenns', O Shion ! biodh dileas do d' Righ
lihcir esau gach cuis, ann an gliocas gu crich;

12

And though judges may threaten, and statesmen may frown,
Bo sure that' thy bulwarks will never come down

The heavens shall depart, and the earth shall decay,
The world and its minions shall soon pass away :
But no jot of the rights which to thee have been willed,
Shall e'er pass away till all be fulfilled.

THE COVENANTER'S DREAM.

In a dream of the night I was wafted away
To the muirland of mist where the bless'd Martyrs lay ;
Where Cameron's sword and his bible are seen,
Engraved on the stone where the heather grows green.

'Twas a dream of those ages of darkness and blood,
When the minister's home was the mountain and wood ;
When in Well wood's dark valley the standard of Zion,
All bloody and torn 'mong the heather was lying.

'Twas morning ; and summer's young sun from the east
Lay in loving repose on the green mountain's breast ;
On' woodland and cuirntable the clear shining dew
Glisteu'd there 'mong the heath-bells and mountain flowers blue

And far up in heaven, near the white sunny cloud,
The song of the lark was melodious and loud,
And in Ulenmuir's wild solitude, lengthened and deep,
Were the whistling of plovers and bleating of sheep.

And Wellwood's sweet valleys breathed music and gladdness ;
The fresh meadow blooms hung in baauty and redness ;
Its daughters were happy to hail the returning,
And drink the delights of July's sweet morning.

But, oh ! there were hearts cherished far other feelings,
Illumed by the light of prophetic revealings,
Who drank from the scenery of beauty but sorrow,
For they knew that their blood wonld bedew it to-morrow.

'Twas the few faithful ones who with Cameron were lying,
Concealed 'mong the mist where the heathfowl was crying ;
For the horsemen of Earl shall around them were hovering,
And their bridle reins rang through the thin misty covering.

Their faces grew pale, and their swords were unsheathed,
But the vengeance that darkened their brow was unbreathed

13

Tmich thnsagu h-earbscach an solus a ghnuis',

'S do bhabhuinn a chaoidh cha toir namhaid a nuas.

Theid neamh agus talamh chair thairis gu dian,
A's caochlaidh ua daoino mar shneachda nan sian ;
Ach a' phuing sin is lugha, cha chaochail am foasd,
Do gach gealladh a thugadh do Eaglais Chriosd.

AISLING A* CHUMNANTAICH.

Ann an aisling na h-oidh'ch' chaidh mo ghiulan an aird
Chum nam beann air'n do ruaigeadh na Mairtirich aigh ;
Far bheil Biobuill nan naomh 's airm-chatha nan laoch,
Air an gearradh air cloich far an dosrach am fraoch.

B'e aisling mu linntean geur-leanmhuinn a bh'ann,
'N uair dh'f hogradh na naoimh roi' choilltibh nam beann ;
Bha caomh bhratach Shioin 'an uaigneas an t-sleibh,
Air a dathadh le fuil, agus reubt' as a cheil'.

B'e maduinn an t-samhraidh, a's bha fann ghath na greine,
Gu h-aillidh a' boillsgeadh air gorm shlios nan sleibhtean;
Air beanntan na du'cha bha tin, dhealt a's driichd,
A' braonadh air lusan, 'sair blaithean nan stuchd.

Bha'n uiseag gu ceolmhor feadh neoil ghil nan speur,

A' seinn lo toilinntinn am binn cheileir reidh,

Bha'n f headag ga cluinntinn an an doimhneachd an aonaich,

'S air mouadh an f hraoich bha meilich nan caorach.

Gleann Wettu'ood bha uror a' fosgladh fo sholas,
'S gach ceud-bhlath air fas aim an airde am boichead ;
Chuir oighean a' ghlinne le aiteas an graidh,
Fdilte le solas air maduiun an aigh.

Ach mo thruaighe do'n bhuidhinn a dh'eirich le cheile,
Fhuair sealladh roi' laimh air an teanndachd bha 'g eiridh ;
Cha b'urrainn iad tlachd a bin ac' air an laraich,
Far am b' f hios doibh am fuil bhi ga dortadh am mtlireach.

B' iad fuigheall nan laoch a sheas dileas le Cameron,
Bha gam folach 'sa' cheo am measg ruadh-eoin a' gharbhlaich,
Oir bha marcaichean Earshall a' tarruing 'g an coir,
Srianan nan each bha ri'm faiciun roi'u cheo.

Bha'n aghaidhean uainc, 's an claidheannan riiisgte,

Ach bha'n dio'ltas a dhubhraich an suilean gun bhruchdadh

14

With eyes turned to heaven in calm resignation,
They siing their last song to the God of salvation.

The hills with the deep mournful music were ringing ;
The curlew and plover in concert were singing ;
But the melody died 'mid derision and laughter,
As the host of ungodly rushed on to the slaughter.

Though in mist, and in darkness, and fire, they were shrouded,
Yet the souls of the righteous were calm and unclouded ;
Their dark eyes flashed lightning, as, firm and unbending,
They stood like the rock which the thunder is rending.

The muskets were flashing, the blue swords were gleaming,
The helmets were cleft, and the red blood was streaming,
The heavens grew dark, and the thunder was rolling,
When in \Vc-ll wood's dark muirlands the mighty were falling

When the righteous had fallen and the combat was ended,

A chariot of fire through the dark cloud descended ;

Its drivers were angels, on horses of whiteness,

And its burning wheels turned on axles of brightness.

A seraph unfolded its doors bright and shining,
All dazzling like gold of the seventh refining,
And the souls that came forth out of great tribulation,
Have mounted the chariots and steeds of salvation.

On the arch of the rainbow the chariot is gliding ;
Through the path of the thunder the horsemen are riding ;
Glide swiftly, bright spirits! the prize is before ye,
A crown never failing, a kingdom of glory !

AGAINST AVARICE.

HUNALD ! the counsel of Columba hear,
And to thy friend give now a willing ear ;
!No studied ornament shall gild my speecn,
What love shall dictate, I will plainly preach.

Have faith in God, and his commands obey,
While fleeting life allows you here to stay ;
And know, the end for which this life is given,
Is to prepare the soul for God and heaven.
Despise the pleasures which will not remain,
Nor set thy heart on momentary gain :
But seek for treasures in the sacred page,
And in the precepts of each saint and sage.

15

Na naoimh thog an suileau lo umhlachd an ainl,

A's sheiun iad gu tianihaidh do'ii Dia o'n robh 'n slaint'.

Bha beanntaidhean creagach a' freagairt an orain,

Rinn an f headag 's a ghuilbneach co-sheirm riu co'lath ;

Ach bhasaich an ceol a' measg spors agus garaich,

'Nuair bha feachd nam ini-dhiadhach a' triall chum na li-araich

Ged bha iad a' tuiteam feadh deatnch a's teine,

Bha anama nam f irean ciuin, siochail, gun eagal ;

Bha 'n suilean a' lasadh, 's lo taise cha gheilleadh,

'S ann a sheas iad mar charraig 's an dealan ga reubadh.

Riun na gunnachan lamhach, dhears gonn lanna faobhrach,
Na clogaidean spealgta, bha 'n dearg fhuil ga taosgadh,
Dhorchaich na speuran, b' ard beucail na torruinn,
'S na treun-fhir ga'm marbhadh 'an garbhlach a' mhonaidh.

'N uair mharbhadh na firein, 'sa chriochnaich an streupaid,
Thaiuig carbad do theino roi' dhubh-neoil nan speuran ;
B'iad ainglean a's cheruib nan speur a luchd-coimhead,
'S bha 'rothan a' lasadh air aisilean soluis.

Chaidh seraph a dh'f hosgladh a dhorsan geal maiseach,
A bha 'dearsadh mar or chaidh seachd uairean a ghlanadh,
'S na h-anamaibh eibhinn a dh'eirieh a amhghar,
JS do fhlaitheanas dh'fhalbh iad air charbad na slamte.

Air bogha nan speuran bha'n carbad air fhaicinn,
Roi' raidean an tairneanaich thairneadh am marc-shluagh :
Greasaibh aingle gu luath, oir tha'n duais ann 'ur coh",
Crun a bhios siorruidh ann an rioghachd na gloir.

AN AGHAIDH SAINNT.

Ri comhaiiT Chalum Chille a Hunaild eisd,
'S ri d' charaid aom do chluas gu toileach, geur ;
Mo chainnt cha bhi lo loinnir foghlum cruaidh.
An ni their gradh ui mi gu saor a luaidh.

Cuir muinghinn anu an Dia, 's d'a ghuth thoir geill,
Am feadh a inhaireas lii do chuairt fo'n ghrein ;
A's thoir fainear ar beath' an so gu'n d' t'huair
G'ar n-anaman dheasach' air son sonas buan.
Dean dimeas air na solasan nach mair,
'S na leag do chri air biuumachd leat nach fan ;
Ach toraichd ioumhais anus an Fhocal Naomh,
A'a auns gach cornhaiiie d'a rcir thug daoin' :

16

These noble treasures will remain behind
Wh'.'n earthly treasures fly on wings of wind

Think of the time when trembling age shall come,
And tho last messenger to call thee home.
Tis wise to meditate betimes on death,
And that dread moment which will stop the breath,
On all tho ills which age brings in its train,

o and weakness, langour, grief and pain.
Tho joints grow stiff, the blood itself run cold,
Nor can the staff its trembling load uphold.
And need I speak of groans and pangs of mind,
And sleep disturbed by every breath of wind ?
What then avails the heaps'of yellow gold,
For years collected, and each day re-told ?
Or what avails the table richly stored
To the sick palate of its dying lord ?
The sinful pleasures which have long since past.
Are now like arrows in his heart stuck fast.

He who reflects that Time, on eagle- wing,
Flies past, and preys on every earthly thing,
"Will scorn vain honours, avarice despise,
On nobler pursuits bent, beyond the skies.

Alas ! vain mortals, how misplaced your care.
When in this world you seek what is not there ?
True lasting happiness is found above,
And heaven not earth, you therefore ought to love.
The rich enjoy not what they seem to have,
But something more their souls incessant crave.
Tho use of riches seldom do they know ;
For heirs they heap them, or they waste in show.

O ! happy he, to whose contented mind
Riches seem useless, but to help mankind ;
Who neither squanders what should feed the poor,
Nor suffers Avarice to lock his store.
No moths upon his heaps of garments feed,
Nor serves his corn to feed the pampered steed.
No cank'ring care shall take his peace away ;
No thief, nor flame, shall on his substance prey.
His treasure is secure beyond the skies,
And there he finds it on the day he dies.

This world we entered naked at our birth,
Naked wo leave it, and return to earth :
Silver and gold \vo need not much, nor long,
Since to this world alone such things belong.
Life's little space requires no ample store :
Soon heaven opens to the pious poor ;
While Pluto's realms their dreary gates unfold,
Those to admit who set their souls on gold.

17

Na h-ionmhais luachmhor sin bidh buan mar ncarnh,
Ach siubhlaidh ionmhais shaoghalta mar neul.

Deau smuaintoach air an tiom 's an tig seann aois,
'S an teachdair' deireannachgud' ghairm o'n t-saogh'l ;
Is glic dhuit meorachadh air has gach 16,
A 'a air an uair 's an toir thu suas an deo —
Air na h-uilc sin uile thairngeas aois ua deigh,
Bochduinn a's laige, caitheamh, bron, a's pein.
Neo-easguidh bidh na h-uilt, 's ni'n f huil ruith fuar,
'S cha chum an lorg a h-uallach critheach suas :
A's iomradh 'n ruig mi leas air inntinn chlaoidht',
A's codal buairte leis gach oiteig ghaoith.
Ciod feum mati nan torran buidhe oir,
O bhliadhn' gu bliadhna truist, 's nam meud a' bosd :
No'm bord an t-soigh, 's an t-saibhreis ciod am feum
Do chail ro thinn a thighearn 'dol do'n eug ?
Na sdlais pheacach bho cheann fada dh'fhalbh,
Tha saithte nis na chri mar mhile sgolb.

Esf bheir fainear cia luath tha tiom dol seach,
'S a' cosd gach ni is cuspair talmhaidh as,
Ni sgeig air onair f haoin, air Siinnt ni tair,
Le 'shuil air nithe 's fearr taobh thall a' bhais.

Mo thruaigh ! a chnuimhean bochd' sa' cheo air chall
Ag iarraidh ni 'san t-saoghal nach 'eil ann,
Fior shonas malreannach tha shuas gu h-ai d —
Do neamh mata 'sna b' ann do'n t saogh'l thoir gradh.
Am beartach cha 'n 'eil sona le 'chuid oir,
Tha miannan 'anm' air cuspair eil' an toir ;
Fior f heum an saibhreis 's tearc iad e d'an eoil,
'S e 's gnath leo thorradh suas no chosd le strogh.

O ! 's son' an neach tha toilichte le 'chrann,
'3 le'n coma beartas ach a chum a roinn —
Nach sgap an ni bu choir dha thoirfc do'n bhochd,
^S nach leig le sannt gu'u glais e suas a stochd.
Na leomainn cha dean air a thrusgain beud,
'S cha toir e ghran a reamhrachadh nan steud,
Ni mo bheir iomagain cri e chaoidh fo sprochd :
No teine fos, no meirlich gu bin bochd.
Tha ionmhas taisgt' os ceann nan neul gu h-ard,
A's gheibh e 'n sin le riadh e latha 'bhais.

Lomnochd thainig sinn do'n t-saogh'l so'n tus,
A's lomnochd uaithe pillidh sinn do'n uir :
Ar feum air airgiod cha bhi mor no buan,
A chionn nach buin e ach do'u taobh so'n uaigh.
La cuairt chloinn daoiu' a bhos cha 'n iarr mor stochd,
Oir fosglaidh neamh gun dail do'n diadhaidh bhochd,
Am feadh a dh; f hosglas pnosan dorcha a blnoin
gabhail-san a steach rinn dia do'u or.

18

Our Saviour bids us Avarice avoid,
Nor love those things which can't be long enjoyed.
Short, says the Psalmist, are the days of man,
The measure of his life a narrow span.
Time flics away ; and on its rapid wing
Wo fly along, with every earthly thing.
Yet Time returns, and crowns the Spring with flowers,
Renews the seasons, and repeats the hours.
But lifo returns not with revolving years,
And man, once gone, on earth no more appears.
\Vi.-<> then is he who makes it his great care,
In this short space, for heaven to prepare.

MORTALITY.

O why should the spirit of mortal be proud !
Like a fast-flitting meteor, a fast-flying cloud,
A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave,
He passes from life to his rest in the grave.

The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade,
Be scattered around, and together be laid ;
And the young and the old, and the low and the high
Shall moulder to dust, and together shah1 lie.

The child that a mother attended and loved,
The mother that infant's affection had proved,
The husband that mother and infant had blest,
Each — all are away to their dwelling of rest.

The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye,
Shone beauty and pleasure — her triumphs are by ;
And the memory of those that loved her and praised,
Are alike from the minds of the living erased.

The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne,
The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn,
The eye of the sage, and the heart of the bravo,
Are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave.

The peasant whoso lot was to sow and to reap,
The herdsman who climbed with his goats to the steep,
The beggar that wandered in search of his bread,
Have faded away like the grass that wo tread.

The saint that enjoyed the communion of heaven,
The sinner that dared to remain unforgiven,
The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just
Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust.

19

Tha sannt fo dhhneas aim am focal De,
Is lubach. carach tha gach ni fo 'n ghreiu :
An duino truagh, thuirt Daibhidh, 's geavr a la,
A bheatha teichidh as gu luath mar >
Tha tiom na ruith, a's air a sgiathaibh luatli
Tha sinno 'falbh mar clinch gu'r dachaidh bhuan.
Ach pillidh tiom, a's blieir na glinn fo bhliith,
'S thig am gu cur a's buain, a's la 'n deigh la.
Ach beatha ris cha phill le blath nam bruach,
A's duiue aon uair marbh cha phill o'n uaigh.
Is glic mata gach aon d'an curam geur,
'Sun t-seal so ullachadh fa theachd a Dh6.

B A S M II 0 I R E A C H D .

Ciod uime 'n dean duine gearr-shaoghalach uaill !
Mar an dreug, no mar neul a shiubhlas gu luath,
Mar bhoilsgeadh an doalain — mar thonuan air traigh,
O bheatha tha 'siubhal gu tosdachd a' bhais.

Seargaidh duilleach an daraich 's an t-seilich 's a' ghrein,
Theid an sgapadh mu'n cuairt, a's ni luidhe 10 cheil';
An t-6g a's an t-aosd', an t-ainnis, 's an t-ard,
Ni luidhe gu tosdach fo chuibhreach a' bhais.

An leanabh a dh'altmm a mhathair le gradh,
'S a' mhathair 'bha tairisneach, iochdmhor, a's blath ;
'S an t-athair a ghradhaicli a leanabh, 'sa cheil',
Tha iad uile a nis 'nan luidhe fo 'n deil'.

A' mhaighdean bha maiseach, lo aoibh air a gnuis,
A nis tha, na luidhe gu tosdach 'sail uir ;
A's tha cuimhne na muinntir 'thug speis di a's gradh,
Air an dearmad gu tur leis an al a tha lath'ir.

Tha cumhachd an righ a riaghail na sloigh,

Tha uabhar an t-sagairt a thionndaidh o'n choir,

Tha suilean a' ghliocair, a's gairdean nam buadh,

Air am folach 's air chall ann an doimhneachd na h-uaigh.

Tha'n croitear a shaoithrich ri cur agus buain,
'S am buachall a dh'ionaltair a ghobhair feadh bhruach,
Tha'n deirceach 'bha 'g iarraidh o choigrich a loin,
Air seargadh mar f hear, a's nan luidhe gun deo.

An naomh a bha 'mealtuinn co-chomunn ri Dia,

'S am peacach d'a aiugidheachd fuath nach d' thug riamh,

An glic a's am baoghalt, an daoi a's an coir,

Tha'n cncimhan air measgadh le cheile fo'n f hoid.

20

So the multitude goes— like the flower and the -weed
That wither away to let others succeed ;
So the multitude comes — even those we behold,
To repeat every tale that hath often been told.

For we are the same that our fathers have been,
We see the same sights that our fathers have seen,
We drink the same stream, and we feel the same sun,
And we run the same course that our fathers have run.

The thoughts we are thinking, our fathers would think :
From the death we are shrinking from, they too would shrink;
To the life we are clinging to, they too would cling —
But it speeds from the earth like a bird on the wing.

They loved — but their story we cannot unfold ;
They scorned — but the heart of the haughty is cold ;
They grieved — but no wail from their slumbers may come ;
They joy'd — but the voice of their gladness is dumb.

They died — ah ! they died ! and we, things that are now,
Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow,
Who make in their dwellings a transient abode,
Meet the changes they met on their pilgrimage road.

Yea, hope and despondence, and pleasure and pain,
Are mingled together like sunshine and rain ;
And the smile and the tear, and the song and the dirge,
Still follow each other like surge upon surge.

'Tis the twink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath,
From the blossom of health to the paleness of death ;
From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud —
O, why should the spirit of mortal be proud !

CASTE AND CHRIST.

" Ho ! thou dark and weary stranger,
From the tropic's palmy strand,

Bowed with toil, with mind benighted,
What would 'st thou upon our land ? "

" Am I not, 0 man, thy brother ? "
Spake the stranger patiently,

•'All that makes thee, man immortal,
Tell me, dwells it not in me?

1 I, like thee, have joy, have sorrows;
I, like thee, have love and fear ;

21

Mar so tha 'mhor chuideachd — a' falbh mar am bluth
Tha 'seargadh gu rum 'thoirt do aou teachd, 'na 'ait';
Mar sin tha 'mhor chuideadul a' pillcadh a ris
Gu aithris gach sgeula gu trie a chaidh inns'.

Oir tha sinne 's gach ni mar bha iadsan a threig,
Gach sealladh a chunnaic iad dhuinne nis 'sleur,
Ag 61 do'n aon fhuarau, o'n ghrein 'faotainn blath's,
A' ruith san aon chiirs' mar rinn iad-san, 'nan la.

Ar n-athraichean bhreithnich 'nan la mar an clann,
A's sheachainn am bus mar ni sinne san am ;
A's leanadh ri'm beatha 's ri'm maoin mar siun iein —
Ach nan deann tha air falbh mar an t-eun air an sgeith.

Thug iad gaol — ach an sgeula co 's urrainn a luaidh ;
Rinn fanaid — ach cridho nan uaibhreach tha fuar ;
Rinn bron — ach an osnaich cha chluinuear gu brath,
Bha greadhnach — 's an aighear chaidh a' chosg leis a' bhas.

Ach dh'eug iad — a's sinno 'tha 'saltairt an tras
Air an f hold 'tha 'g an comhdach an tosdachd a' bhais ;
A' tuiuueach car sealain far'n do thuinich na trein,
'S a' comhlach' gach caochladh a thachair riu iein.

Tha dochas 's an earbsa, toilinntinn a's pein,

Air am measgadh mar dhubhar 's mar bhoillsgeadh na grein

A's an gaire. 's an deur, 's an cumha, 's an dan,

Tha 'leantuinn a' cheile mar thonnan air traigh.

Mar phriobadh na sul, no mar bhoillsgeadh air fair',
O ailleadid na slainte gu duaich'neachd a' bhais ;
O thaladh an aighir, gu bothan a' bhroin —
Ciod uime 'n dean duine gearr-shaoghalach bosd !

DIOBARRAICII AGUS CR10SD.

" 0 ! 'choigrich sgith, 'sa tha ro chiar-dhubh,
O'n tir ghrianatch 's pailineach fonn,

Ciod a thug an so d'ar tir thu,

Crom le claoidh, 's le h-inntinn throm ? "

" Nach brathair dhuit mi fein a dhuine ? "
Ars' an coigreach dubh gu foill,

" Na ni neo-bha>mhor thusa 'dhuine,
Nach do thuinich annam fos ?

Cosmhuil liut, tha bron, tha aiteas
Agara fein, le geilt a's gradh ;

22

I, like tbee, have hope and longings
Far beyond this earthly sphere.

"Thou art happy, — I am sorrowing
Thou art rich, and I am poor ;

In the name of our one Father,

Do not spurn ine from your door.

Thus the dark one spake, imploring
To each stranger passing nigh ; ^

But each child and man and woman,
Priest and Levite passed him by.

Spurned of men, — despised, rejected,

Spurned from school and church and hall,

Spurned from business and from pleasure,
Sad he stood apart from all.

Then I saw a form all glorious,
Spotless as the dazzling light,

As He passed, men veiled their faces,

And the earth, as heaven, grew bright.

Spake he to the dusky stranger,

Awe-struck there on bended knee,

"Rise ! for / have called thee 'brother,
I am not ashamed of thee.

"By Myself, the Lord of Ages,

I have sworn to right the wrong ;

I have pledged my word, unbroken,
For the weak against the strong.

"When I wedded mortal nature

To my Godhead and my throne,

Then I made all mankind sacred,
Sealed all human for mine own.

"And upon my gospel banner

I have blazed in light the sign-
He who scorns his lowliest brother,
Never shall have hand of mine."

Hear the word ! — Avho fight for Freedom !

Shout it in the battle's van !
Hope ! for bleeding human nature !

Christ the God, is Christ the man /

23

Th'agam miannan agus dochais

Thar mor-inbh an stoil so 'n drast.

Tha mi 'caoidh, 's tha thusa sona,

Tha mi bochd, 's is leatsa maoin ;

'Nainm ar n-Athar na buin coimheach
Rium o d" dhorus, oir 'sinn aon."

Sud thuirt an duine dubli le osnaich,

Ris gach coigreach 'thriall g'a choir ;

Chaidh Sagart, 's Leibh'each seach gun umhail
Da, 's gach duine beag a's mor.

0 sgoil, o eaglais, 's as gach cuideachd,

Blmin gach duine ris le tair ;
Sheas e cian air falbh gu dubhach,

0 gach subhachas bh'aig each.

*N sin chunnaic mise cruth ro-ghlormhor,
Soilleir, oirdheirc, glan, gun smur ;

Mar neamh dh'fhas talamh geal 'nuair thriall e,
'8 chomhdaich daoine fiat an gnuis.

Thuirt e ris a' choigreach lachdunn,
'Bha le ball-chrith air a ghlun,

" Eirich ! ghairm mi fein dhiot brathair,
'S leam nach narach tigh'nn dhuit dlu.

Ormsa mhionnaich mi, Aosd'-laithean,
'Bhi 'cur deas na 's cearr mi fein,

M'fhocal naisg mi air son thruaghan
'Sheasamh buan an aghaidh threun.

'N uair dh'aon mi fein an nadur basmhor,
Hi mo Dhiadhachd ard 's ri m' chuirt,

'N sin rinn mi'n cinneadh-daonna 'sheuladh,
'Suas dhonih fein gun treibh nan diu

Air brataich aluinn ard mo Shoisgeil

Sgriobh mi boillsgeil, geal, 'na clar,

'Neach le'm fuathach brathair diblidh,

Choidhch', gu sior, cha ghlac mo lamh,

Fhir a thngras air son saorsa,

So do ghlaodh air ius na stri,
Dochas mor ! do'n dream tha piantach !

Criosd an Diet, 'sau duine Criosd!

24

THE SLAVE-MARKET.

I STOOD on an open plain, facing the bounding SPA,

And watched the dancing waves as they rolled all bright and free;

The playful winds swept by me, in glad carousal there ; —

I mused on nature's freedom, so sportive and so fair.

The clouds with gaudy tinges flew swiftly o'er my head,

And golden-crested sea-birds by (he ocean's margin sped ;

My spirit like the waters seemed dancing to the song-,

Of the breeze which whispered sweetly, and wooed the waves along.

I gazed up to the heavens— their deep and boundless blue —
To thoughts of sweet eternity my swelling spirit flew ;
I prayed a wordless prayer to the God whom none can see,
And blessed Him who created man the freest of the free.

I started from my reverie— a crowd had gathered round :

A sable maiden wept aloud— her graceful arms were bound ;— ]

A mother with an infant upon her heaving breast ;

A hoary-headed aged sire, with sorrow sorely pressed.

Around them passed proud planters: they asked the maiden's years —
They marked the mother's muscles, but they heeded not her tears —
They pinched the old man's arms, spoke haishly of his bones —
They heard each other's whispers, but were deaf unto his groans.

I heard loud voices shouting the price of flesh and blood);
The mother's tears her infant bathed with a convulsive flood.
The maiden by her father knelt, and madly kissed his hand —
The old man tore his matted hair, then sunk upon the strand ;

And there, like monuments of grief, with moist, averted eyes,
The old man and his daughter gazed upwards to the skies ; —
And inward asked if God was there, and prayed his swift, decree,
To call their broken spirits home — to set the bondman free.

'Tis over — and by sinful hands the price of blood is paid;
One drags the groaning old man off— another drags the maid,
The infant from its mother'? breast, sweet smiling as it goes;
Strives to lisp out its mamma's name, unconscious of her woes.

Now boasting of their purchases, the planters turn aside,

And tramp the ciiy's I usv marts with ill begotten pride,

The Sabbnth comes, the 'planters meet, and loudly sing and pray

But leave their broken-hearted slaves, to weep their life away.

Oh, proud man ! let your hymns be pure, your supplications true,
" Do you to others as you would have others do to you,"
Go summon all your weeping slaves into the house of prayer,
And in the sight of God and man proclaim their freedom there.

So may you hope, when bound by sin, in realms you yet shall see,
The Saviour's all sufficing love shall set your spirit free,
But hope not to Heaven's gates to bear your captives' chains;
And yet escape the wrath of God, and it's enduring pains.

Oh, calm shall be your spirits's peace, when slavery is no more,
Thou Shalt glory in the dancing waves, as they kiss tlie pebbled shore,
The winds shall glad your patriot cheeks, and sport your lucks among;
And Nature by her stars and moon, shall sing a cheering song.

And every bird thou seest fly. nnd every waving tree,

Shall whisper of the truth sublime, that thy own soul is free!

Free from the curse of slavery's chains, free from fresh blood and tears

Free from polluted lucre's gains, free from distuibing fears.

And in thy dreams shall visions rise most beautiful to view,
The ransomed babes along thy path shall perfumed roses strew,
And in thy waking walks of life, the constant song shall be,
" God bless the truly Christian man that set the bondmen free."

25

MARGADH NAN TRAILLEAN.

Sheas mi air faiche bhoidhich luim, am faisg air bile 'chuain,
A's bheachdaich mi air sugradh mear nan tonn a b'aillidh snuadh ;
A' cluicheadh chaidh na gaothan seach, gu mireagach fa sgaoil ;—
'S air saorsa naduir bheachdaich mi, a's dh'i ghabh m' anam gaoL

Na neoil le 'n trusgain or-bhuidhe rinn siubhal seach gu luath,

'S bha eunlaitli mhara loirmeireach a' dol gun tamh mu'n cuairt ;

Co' ionnan ris na b-uis<jeachan ghvad thog air m' anam foun,

Hi h-oran binn nan h-oiteig bhlatb, troimh'n d' iomaineadh an tonn. '

Gu aird na neamhan sbeall mi suas— le 'n cuirtein siorruidh gorm —
A's mile smuain mu'n t-saoghal chian ghrad dh'f hairich mi 'teachd orm ;
Balbh urnuigh rinn mi ris an Dia nach leir do chloinn nan daoin',
A's mhol mi aium-san a rinn duin' os ceann gach creutair saor.

Air dusgadh dhomh o m' mheorachadh— thruis umam moran Rluaigh :
Bha maighdean dhubh a' gul gu h-ard. 's nm 'gairdeanaibh cord cruaidh—
Air uchd a mhathar naoidhean tlath 's a ghruaidh le rteuraibh tais ; —
Seaim duine liath fo acain mhoir le bron air caitheadh as.

Dh'imich borb phlanndairean mun 'cuairt, a's dh'fharraid aois na h-oigh—
Air neart na mathar ghabh iad beachd, cha 'n f hac iad riamh a deoir —
Mhin-rannsaicb iad an seann duin' liath, 's rinn di-meas nir adhealbh
Chual iad guth cagair aon a cheil', ach bha d'a och-san balbh

Ard ghuthan ladurna rinn fuaim mun phris a b' f hiach gach aon ;
Bhruchd deoir na mathar sios gu dluth air fait a leanabain'ghaoil.
A' mhaighdean shleuchd le h-athair sios, a's pbcg le goin a'lamh —
An seann duin' liath spion 'f halt le bron, a's thuit e air an traigh :

»S an sin, le cridhe briste, bruit', :s a dheoir a' ruith gun tamh,

An seann duin'thog rineamh a shuil maraon r'a nionaisr ghraidh ; —

Ag urnuigh ma bha Dia an sin, e theachd le 'chobhair chaoin,

(}' an teasraigin bho 'n amhghar chruaidh — a chur an traill fa sgaoil. '

Ann tinta beag — 's le lamhan ciontach chunntadh sios an t-or :
Shlaod fear an seann duin' bronach leis — a's dh' iomain feav an oigh,
An naoidhean sgaradh leo o 'n uchd, 's an gaire air a ghruaidh ;
A's ainm a mhathar air a bheul, gun toirt fain ear d'a truaigh.

Chaidh 'nis na planndairean a thaobh, 'n an cunradh Meanamh uaill.
'S le'm buannachd shalaich shiubhail iad troi'bhaile mor an t-sluaigh,
Air teachd do'n t-Sabaid thig iad cruinn gu aoradh naomba Dhe ;
Ach fagaidh iad an traillean truagh an sas a1 sileadh dheur.

O fhir na h-uaill! do shailm biodh glan, 's biodh t'achuinge gun bhreus*,
"Mar b' aill leat each a dheanamh dhuit. dean thusa dboibh d'a r^ir,1"
Do thigh na h-urnuitjh dean gu grad do thraillean truagh a ghairm,
A's ann am fianuis dhaoin' a's Dhe, an saorsa dean a sheirm.

A's earbsa faodaidh tu mar sin, air fagail dbuit an t-saogh'il,
Gu'n cuir an Slanuighear 'na ghradh, do^spiorad fein fa pgaiil.
Ach boinn do thraillean, 0 ! na h-earb gu geatan neamh thoirt suas,
'S dol as o uamhas corruich Dhe, 's o pheanas siorruidh buan.

O 'a foisneach a bhios t-uchd air teachd la saorsa do gach traill!
Ni t'inntinn uaill 's na tonnan mear, a bhuaileas air an traigh;
Mar oran binn bidh fuaim nan gaoth 'ni mire feadh do cliiabh,
A's nadur fein, 's gach duil 'na com, sior thogaidh fonn do Dhia.

f^ach craobh a luaisgeas aims a ghaoith, 's gnch eun a chi thu 'leum
Ni cagar riut mu'n t-saorsa mhoir, a bhios aig t' anam fein ;
Seadh, saorsa o chionta tola's dheur, 's o mhallachd cuing an traill:
O bhuannachd shalaich mar an ceudn', 's o uamhas gath a' bhais.

0 d' bhrnadar duisgidh tu 's an oidhch' le h-inntinn aoibhinn, ait,
A's naoidhein shaoirte ni do cheum le rosan cubhraidh 'sgap' ;
A's re do bheatha 'n so a bhos sior sheinnear leis gach aon,
Air cliu an f hirein choir a chuir a thraillean bochd fa sgaoil.

26

THE MURDERED SLAVE.

He died beneath the lash — his mortal frame
Could hear no more, and Death in mercy came !
Patient and calm his spirit passed away,
And now his body sleeps beneath the clay ;
His toils are over, and his weary breast
Has found, what man in life denied him, — Rest.
Poor slumbering dust — is there that passes by
\nd yields thy death the tribute of a sigh?
The tyrant tramples on thy lowly grave,
" Tis'but the ashes of a murdered Slave ! "
And even the more humane have learned to steel
Their hearts, and think that only White Men feel ?
But Jesus looked upon the scene of death,
And marked the Negro's last expiring breath ;
Sustained that breath to speak a parting word,
An humble witness for his gracious Lord :
And bade him, like the Prince of Heaven,
Pray that his murderers might be forgiven !
The gloomy vale he passed, — the pang was o'er, —
He felt the lash of slavery no more, —
He dropped his quivering flesh upon the sod,
And flew to meet his Saviour and his God.
They dug his burial-place — and cast within
The'bleeding record of a nation's sin : —
No eye might dare to pity or to weep,
No fond affection there its watches keep ;
The purple stain that told the deed was done,
Was bleached by midnight dews and noontide sun ;
The white man trod as common ground the spot
Where lay the Slave he murdered and forgot.
— Yet there is hid a safe and sacred trust,
Angels are guarding the despised dust ;
And on that day, when all the dead shall rise,
Shall bear their charge with shoutings to the skies.

THE BROKEN HEART HEALED.

Yes ! I have seen her with her tearful eye
Fixed on the visions that have long gone by ;
Bright scenes of bliss, which playful fancy wove,
As friendship sweetly ripened into love.,

27

AN TRAILL MHOIRTE.

Gu tuille 'ghiulan cha robh neart 'na choin,

Thraigh uaithe 'anam fo na buillenu troin,

Gu samhach, caoin riuu bas bho olc a ghairm,

'S tha 'chorp a nis 'na sliuaiu fo'n torraig ghuirm.

A shaothair sguir, 's an ni 's a' bhoatha bhos

A dhiultadh dha le daoine fhuair e, — Fois.

A dhuslaich bhailbh, am bheil a' triall ort seach'

Aon neach dod' bhas a dh'iocas pris na h-" Och ! "

A'cT leabaidh dhiblidh saltraidh 'm breuu-fhear ort,

11 'Bheil aim ach duslach traill a chaidh a mhort ! "

A's an-iochd dh'f hoghlum daoine truacaiit' fein,

'S a mheas nach fairich daoine- dubha pein !

Ach dh'amhairc losa 'nuas air meud an lochd,

A's thug fainear do chrich an Negro bhochd ;

A's neartaich 'auail ann an glaic a' bhais

Gu luaidh a thoirt air ainm a-Thighearn aigh ;

A's trocair iarruidh d'a luchd-casgraidh breun,

Mar Phrionusa Neamh d'a naimhdean guineach fein !

Chuir e 'n gleann domhain, dorcha seach, 's gach brou,

'S cha ruig ah- slat ua traillealachd ni's mo, —

Fheoil bhriosgach, phlosgach, leig e chum na creadh',

A's ruith e 'n coinneainh 'Shlan'ir a's a Din'.

Ait-adhlaic chladhaich iad — a's thilg a steach
Fuil-chuimhneachau a' chinuich so 'n am peac': —
Cha robh a chridh' aig suil gu'm faict' a deoir,
'S cha'n fhaodadh aigne bhlath ann suidhe 'bhron ;
Am ball trom-dhearg a dh'innis mar a bha,
Bha night' le driuchd na h-oidhch' 's le grian an la ;
Shaltair an duine geal an t-ait' gun suim
'S an d' luidh an trail! a chuir e moirt' a chuimhu'.
Gidheadh tha Neamhnuid luachmhor ann fo sguil,
Tha aingle' 'cuartachadh an duis fo thair ; —
A's air an la sin anns an duisg na mairbh,
Le h-iolach ni iad gus na neoil a ghairm.

AN CRIDHE BRISTE AIR A SilLANACHADH.

Seadh ! chunnaic mi le deur a' bhroin 'na suil
A' mhaighdeau aillidh 'cuiinhneachadh le turs',
Air aithean ait a dh 'f halbh 'muiir bhruaidir i,
M' an t-sonas phailt a mhealladh i gun dith,

28

Then the dear youth, through yonder sylvan glade,
Led the confiding and the happy maid ;
Where'er they strayed, all nature fairer seemed —
Each well-known object with new beauties beamed.
The day arrived ; but, ah ! how changed the scene
From what her wishes and her hopes have been !
That day which promised bliss and bridal bloom,
Found her in weeds, her lover in the tomb !

Deep was the wound the sad bereavement made,
And long she wept, but while she wept she prayed ;
With grief confessing, at her Saviour's feet,
Her guilt was great, her punishment was meet.
At length that Saviour, stooping from on high,
Silenced her doubts, and whispered, " It is 1 " —
That gentle voice made every murmur cease,
And o'er her bosom breathed a sacred peace.
Her soul, no longer to the creature bound.
Sought her Creator, and while seeking found ;
Her thoughts, her hopes* her cares from earth withdrew,
And all surrendered to her Lord anew.

Thus, when the storm disturbed that inland sea,
Which bathes thy shore, thrice favoured Galilee !
The foaming billows mocked the seamen's skill ;
But when the Saviour utters, " Peace, be still,"
Hushed is the wind, each angry wave subsides,
And the frail shallop in smooth waters glide.

THE HYMN OF CLEANTHES.*

Great Jove, of all the immortal gods supreme,
J5y various names ador'd ; be thou my theme;
Thou know'st no change, omnipotent art thou ;
Before thy everlasting throne, I bow.
Nature itself is under thy control.
Thy arm has form'd, supports, and guides the whole.
Man ; blest with vocal pow'rs, is taught to raise
His tuneful voice to celebrate thy praise,

» Dr Doddridge has the following note in his Family Expositor^
on Acts, xvii. 2<S: — "These words,'' 'For we are his offspring,'
(which I choose to put in a poetical order, as best imitating the
original,) are well known to be found in Aratus, a poet of Cilieia,
Paul's own Country, who lived about 300 years before this time.
I wonder so few writers should have added that they are, with the

29

An caidreamh graidh an oig-fhir b'aillidh sgiamh ;
Le'n trie a ghabh i sraid gun sgath, gun f hiamh ;
Ki taobh nan alltan, no sa' choille dhluth,
Air feasgar blath, no moch air bharr an driuchd.
Ach O ! mo chreach, nach f haic thu'n caochladh mor
Tha nis air teachd — am fiuran 6g cha bheo, —
Jsa laidhe tosdach tha e anns an uir,
An t-6g a dh' f has gu h-aluinn fallan ur.

'S domhain an lot rinn so na cridhe blath ;
Ach 'nuair a ghuil, a h-urnuigh chuir i 'n aird ;
'S gu h-umhaJ dh' aidich i aig casaibh los'
A ciont' gu'm b' airidh air na shealbhaich i.
An sin an Slan'f hear chrom a nuas agradh,
" "S mi fein a th' ann," b'e so an cagar graidh —
'S le 'chaomh ghuth seirnh gu'n d'f huadaich e gach gruaim
'So sin a rnach gu'n d' mheal i solas nuadh.
Ni b' f haide cha robh 'cridhe ris a' chreutair fuaight';
Ach dh'iarr i 'Cruith'ear, 's 'n uair a shir i, fhuair,
A maoin 'sa dochas thog i nis a suas,

miann gu leir tha Air-sau, Treun nam buadh."

Mar so 'nuair dh' eirich a' mhuir bheuchdach suas ;
Ri d' thraigh tha slachdraich 'Ghalile nam buaidh,
Na tonnan uaibhreach 'n suaraich chuir gach ni ;
Ach 'nuair thuirt losa riutha " Tosd, biodh sith,"
An fhairge shiolaidh, 's balbh gu'n d' f has an t-sid,
'S an iubhrach lag gu tearuinnt' rauiig tir.

LAOIDH CHLEANTHEIS.

A High nan saogh'l, ard-cheannard feachd nan dee,
Ard-mholt' fo iomadh ainm do chliu bidh 'm bheul :
'S leat neart gun cheann, 's cha chaochail thu gu sior,
An lath'ir do chathrach siorruidh sleuchdam sios.
Tha nadur fC-in le chuibhlean mor fo d' smachd,
'S air dearn do lainih a' ruith a chuairt a mach.
'Se crioch chloinn daoin', le'n teanga cheolmhoir, bhinn,
Do chliu-sa sheinn 'n an dain air ieadh gach linn.

alteration of one letter only, to be found in the Hymn of Cleanthes
to Jupiter, or the supreme God, which L willingly mention, is be-
yond comparison the purest and finest piece of natural religion of
its length, in the whole world, of pagan antiquity ; and which, so
far as I can recollect, contains nothing unworthy of a Christian,
or. I had almost said, of an inspired pen.

30

We are thy offspring ; we, whose heav'nly birth,
More than from aught that lives and creeps on earth,
Demands a grateful song : for man alone.
Of all earth's tenants, can address thy throne.

Thee will I sing ; and sing thy Pow'r divine,
By which the sun and stars, and planets shine ;
And wheeling round the world, obey thy nod,
And joyful own an ever present God.
Thou g'uid'st with steady hand, and equal force,
The forked lightnings in their fiery course ;
When naturo'looks aghast, and trembling stands,
Waiting in solemn silence, thy commands.
But thou art wise in al ; — when thunders roll
In awful majesty from pole to pole ;
And when the lamps of night, and orb of day
In order move along their noiseless way,
All that inhabit heaven, and earth, and sea,
Think, speak, and act, as they are impell'd by thee ;
Save when the wicked violate thy laws,
Their own corrupt desires, the guilty cause.

Thou mak'st the frowning face of nature smile.
And crown' st with beauty, things deform'd and vile :
All jarring elements of good and ill,
Touch'd by the plastic hand, obey thy will ;
And heavenly wisdom, great beyond control,
Into one glorious system, forms the whole.
But wretched men, by vice and folly led,
Who ne'er in search of happiness have sped,
With ears obstructed and averted eyes ;
The eternal law of Reason dare despise,
Which, had they kept it with obedient will,
Had bless'd their days, and screen'd their life from ill.
But, Ah ! ill fated men, they onward rush,
And ev'ry virtuous feeling madly crush.
Some pant for fame, by wild ambition fir'd.
Some grasp at wealth, by love of gold inspir'd.
Others in brutal sloth dream time away ;
And some to pleasures give the night and day ; —
Pleasures of sense, which disappoint and cloy,
And rob the aching heart of ev'ry joy.

But, mighty Jove, Thou bounteous Lord of all,
Father of gods and men, on the I call.
Though clouds and darkness gird thy dazzling throne,
And by thy voice of thunder thou art known,
Let thy paternal eye with pity see
The sons of folly wand 'ring far from thee.

31

Do ghineil 'sinne fis d'an tug thu dealbh,
A's bitli ro anl os ceanu nam briiidean balbh
Gu <T mholadh fein, oir do gacb ni ni falbh
'Se 'n duine mhain is utraiuu gairm air t'ainm.

Dhuit seinneam, seinneam fos do'n ghairdean tbreun
Tre 'm bbeil a' ghrian 's a' ghealach anus an speur,
'S a' ruith mu'n cuairt a' cbruinne reir do mhiann,
Gu h-ait ag radh gur b-uile laithreach Dia :
Ceart stiuraidh tu le neart do ghairdein dearbht'
An dealan gobblach, bras, 'na ghathaibh dearg.
Fo uamhann mor a's crith 'nuair bhios gach duil
'Nan tosd a' feitheamh foillseachaidh do ruin ;
Aeh tbus' is 2flic gach uair 'n uair bheuchdas fuaim
An tairneinich a' marcachd neula luath ;
'S an uair a ghluaiseas rionnagan na h-oidhch',
A's lochran mor an la gun chlos, gun chlaoidh,
Luchd-aitich' neimh gu leir, a's mara 's tir',
Tha leats' a' gluas'd 'nan smuain, 'nan guth, 's 'nan gniomli,
Ach 'u uair a bhriseas peacaich troimh do reachd
An t-aobbar tha 'n am miannaibh fein gu beachd.

Gnuis ghruamach naduir cuiridh tu fo aoibh,
'S le maise cruuaidh nithe 'b'aobhar oillt,
Gach olc a's maith, 's eas-aonachd anns an t-saogh'l
Do ghuth do bheil bheir umhlachd, thoileach, shaor,
'S ni gliocas neamhaidh mor o's ceann gach feart
An toirt mar aou gu cordadh anns gach beairt.
Ach daoine truagh a' ruith an deigh am miann,
'S a thorachd sonais nach do chciraieh riamh,
Le cluasaibh bodhar agus suilibh claon
Lagh sioiTuidh reusain brisidh iad gu baoth —
Lagh 16s nam biodh iad dileas, umhal da
A chuireadh aoibhneas cri' 'n an cup' a ghnuth.
Ach Ah ! mo chreach ! dian ruithidh daoin' do'n olc,
'S Ljarh smaointiun ion-mholt' ni gun chiall a mhort ;
Lt- iniann air ainm tha aigne cuid air ghoil,
Cuid 16s a's gradh an oir 'g an cur air boil —
Cuid eil' an lunnd ni tiom a chosd gun stath,
'S do sholasaibh bheir cuid an oidhch' 's an la. :
'S iad solais mhealltach, bhreugach. bhruideil, bhreun,
'S a dh'f hagas daonnan acain ghoirt 'n an deigh.
Ach thus' a Righ nam feart an aird nan speur,
'S ann ort a ghairmeam, Athair dhaoin' a's dhee ;
Ged chuartaich neula dorcha t'aite taimh,
'S a chluinnear anns an tairneanach do chainnt,
Gu h-athaireil, baigheilf seall le h-iochd a nuas
Air mic na goraich 'dol air seachran uait —

32

On their benighted eyes thy knowledge pour,
That they may stray in error's path no more.
Does heav'nly wisdom o'er the world preside ?
Let the same wisdom all their footsteps guide.
Thus houour'd, we the nobler honour raise,
For man was form'd for thy increasing praise ;
And blest are gods and men, whoever sing
The UNIVERSAL LAW of their immortal king.

THE FORTY-FIFTH PSALM.

My ardent heart, with holy raptures fir'd,
Which this sublime, this heav'nly theme inspired,
Sends forth good things. In lofty strains I sing
The pow'r and grandeur of the Almighty King.
Than tongue can speak, swifter than pen can go,
From my transported breast melodious numbers flow.

All human beauty thou dost far surpass,
Such is the dazzling brightness of thy face.
Ten thousand suns in one united blaze,
Would all be lost in thy superior rays.
Around thy head celestial graces shine,
Eternal bliss and glory shall be thine.
Go, hero, arm VI with unresisted might,
Gird on thy sword, prepare thyseif to fight.
Array'd in majesty, ascend thy car,
And undisturb'd drive on the prosp'rous war.
Display thy pow'r, thine en'mies all confound,
Yet gracious, and still with mercy crown'd.
The justice of thy cause shall thee inspire
With holy brav'ry and undaunted fire :
Thy foes shall fall beneath thy conquering sword,
And conquer'd kings acknowledge thee their Lord.

All power is thine, supreme Jehovah ! thine
Infinite empire and eternal reign
By thy just laws are haughty tyrants sway'd,
Thou hat'st the bad, the righteous man dost aid :
For this, my God, thee monarch of the sky.
Above all rival pow'r, exalts thee high
Within thy iv'ry courts in shining state,
Around thy throne attendant princes wait:
While thou amidst perfumes, on high reclin'd,
Dost feed with pure delight thy silent mind.
Here royal handmaids wait their Lord's command,
At thy right side thy beauteous queen doth stand,

33

D'an suilean dall thoir eolas air do ghloir
A chum 's nach teid air seachran iad ni's mo.
Fo stiuradh gliocais neamhaidh rna tha 'n saoghl
An gliocas ceudna stiuradh cos-cheum dhaoin' ;
Fo mheas mar. so cha bhi ar teanga balbh,
Oir 's ann gu d' mholadh a chaidh duine dhealbh ;
'S is sona daoin' a's dee nach sguir gu sior
A sheinn air lagh ro lharsuinn, mor an Righ.

AN CUIGEAMH SALM THAR AN DA-FHICHEAD.

Do aoibhneas naomh mo chridhe maoth ta Ian

Le m' aobhar ciuil o'n tionnsgaiu mi mo dhan,

'S mi 'cur an ceill gu fonnmhor ard le pliu

Sar chumhachd fior, a's morachd Righ nan dul.

Na bhruidhneas teang' 's na sgriobhas peann neo-chli

Tha rannan ciuil a' teachd ni's dluith' o m' chridh.

UiT mhaise dhaoiu' tha t'ailleachd chaoin-s' os cionn,
Oir 's aillidh, ciatach dealradh fiamh do ghuuis ;
Deich mile grian, go b' aillidh 'n sgiamh gu leir,
Gu'm biodh 'san duibhr' an lath'ir do shoillse fein.
Mu d' chuairt gu leir tha grasa neamhaidh 'soills' ;
'S bidh agh a's gloir gun chrioch 'na d' choir a chaoidh.
O Ghaisgich ! rach 'na d' neart ro ghaisgeil, treun,
'S do chlaidheamh crioslaich air do leis gu feum,
A' d' mhoraehd dhealraich rach a'd' charbad suas,
A's cuir, O Righ ! an cath gu crich le buaidh.
Do chumhachd foillsich, 's aimhreitich do naimh,
Ach trocair ghrasmhor bidh gu brath a'd' laimh :
Bheir t'aobhar ceartais misneach, nearfc, a's cli,
Le naomh-euchd treun dhuit leis an dean thu stri
Do naimhdean sgathar leat fo d' chlaidheamh treun,
'S their righrean ciosnaicht' gur h-e 'n Triath thu leiii.

Gach neart 's leat fein, lehobhah, Dhe is ami',
'S a'd' chathair-righ gu'n rioghaich thu gu brath ;
Borb-righrean reachd'or tha fo smachd do reachd,
'S fuath leat an t-aingidh, 'm firean 's annsa leat,
F'an aobhar sin tha Dia, Ard-Righ nan neamh,
Ga d' thogail suas an cumhachd buadhar, treun.
A'd' chuirtibh greadhnach, feuch ! tlia prionnsau mor
Mu d' chathaii'-righ a' feitheamh air do ghloir ;
'S thu fein gu h-ard an cubh'rachd thlath 'san sith,
'S fior aoibhneas aghmhor 'sasachadh do chridh'.
Tha nigh'neau righ a' frithealadh 'na d' choir,
'S do bha-nrigh 'seasamh air do dheas-laimh tos,

34

Her costly robes with golden foliage wrought,
Perfum'd with odours from Arabia brought.

But thou, 0 queen ! give ear and understand,
Forget thy father's house, and native land :
Let now thy former loves be all resign'd,
And on thy hero fix thy longing mind.
The enamour'd prince sh ill doat upon thy charms,
Hang on thy lips, and fold thee in his arms ;
He'll place thee next himself in state and pow'r,
(But thou with rev'rence still thy God adore.)
The Tyrian queen shall leave her native seat,
And. fraught with gifts, in thy apartments wait :
The rich, and all deriv'd of noble race,
Shall court thy favour, and implore thy grace.

Behold the princess cloth'd in rich attire,
Great King ! thy destin'd spouse, thy soul's desire ;
Her robes adorn 'd with interwoven gold,
Her radiant face more glorious to behold :
In charms how far superior is her mind !
All graces here, all virtues are combiu'd.

Lo ! Prince, thy royal bride, this lovely maid,
She comes to thee in nuptial robes array'd ;
Where needle-work its living art displays,
And sparkling gems reflect the golden rays.
Behold, amidst a choir of virgins bright,
She walks, surpassing fair, and charms the sight ;
While winning graces and majestic mien,
Confess her grandeur and declare her queen ;
She, thus surrounde'd by the gazing throng,
In glad procession shall be brought along,
With her associate nymphs, shall joyful come,
And, thronging, enter thy imperial dome.

But thou, O queen ! suspend thy pious care,
No more lament thy dame and aged sire :
Instead of these thou joyful shall embrace
Thy uum'rous progeny, a happy race ; '
For grandeur much, for virtue more renown'd,
And ah* in future times with empires crowu'd.

Thou art the glorious subject of my lays,
To nations far remov'd I'll sing thy praise,
While fleeting shades around the mountains turn
And twinkling stars in midnight watches burn ;
While orient Phoebus gilds the purple day,
Thy honour, praise, and fame shall ne'er decay.
[The translation of this Psalm, like many other Pieces given in
this Work, was executed by the Rev. Angus Macintyre, Kin-
lochspelvie, Mull, when a boy at school.]

35

An trusgan riomhach or-mhaiseach mu bheil
Gach cubhraidh'chd araidh thig o'n Aird-an-ear.

Ach thus', O Bhan-righ ! aom do chluas, a's eisd,
Tigh t'athar dioch'naich 's tir do dhiichais treig,
'S gach cusbair roimho choisinneadh do luaidh,
'S do mhiann gu leir biodh air-san, Treun nam buadh.
Le d' bhuaidhibh araidh 's ni e tala' d' dliuimh
'S gu caidreach Icis thu glaisear 'na dha laimh ;
Gu'n cuirear leis thu 'm morachd faisg dha fein ;
Ach thus' do d' Dhia thoir urram gloir a's geill.
Thig Ban-righ Thiruis fein o 'h-aite taimh
Le millte tiodhlac 'sfceach do d' theampull aigh ;
'S na daoine saibhir aims gach ait' fo 'n ghrein
Gun iarr do ghras 's do dheadh ghean aghmhor fein.

Feuch ! Nigh'n an Righ, an eididh riomhaicli, ghriiin,
Do cheile, Ard Righ, miann a's gradh do chridh,
'S a falluinn 6r-mhaisicht', gu boidheach, dluth,
"S a h-aodunn-dhreach ni 's taitniche do 'n t-suil ;
Am buaidhean aigh a cridh' cia ard gu leir.
Far bheil a' tamh gach beus a's gras is fearr.
O feuch a Righ ! do cheile riomhach, graidh,
A' teachd a'd' ionnsuidh 'n deise bhainns' le h-agh,
'An obair ghreis is fearr 's is finealt' fiamh
Le leugaibh soillseach boisgeil mar a' ghrian,
'Measg mhaighdean' aillidh feuch a Bhan-righ chiuin
A' falbh gu ciatach, miaghar do gach suil,
'8 a buaidhean taitneach, 's fiamh ro-thlachdmhor grinn,
A's riomhadh aillidh 'g inns' gur Ban-righ i.
Mar so. 's i cuartaichte le sluagh ro mhor,
An staid ro ghreadhnach bheirear leo i 'd; choir,
'S i fein 's a maighdeanna an aoibhneas graidh
Gun doirt a steach do d' theampull feart'or aigh ;
Ach thus' O Bhan-righ ! cuir air cul gach bron,
A 's t'aithrich' aosda na bi 'caoidh ni 's mo ;
'N an aite sin dhuit fein bidh sliochd nach gann,
Mic 's nigh'nean aghmhor bhios gu brath neo-f hann ;
'S a bhios le 'm morachd ard 'an gloir 's an cliu,
Ach bhios ni 's aird' a'm maitheas grasmhor 's fiu ;
'Sa riaghlas thairis air an talamh mhor,
'S do 'm bi a chaoidh, o linn gu linn, mor ghloir.

Ach 's tus', O Ard-righ ! cuis mo dhain 's mo chiuil,
'S do dhuthchaibh cein gu'n cuir mi'n ceill do chliu.
Am feadh a ghluaiseas neoil mu chuairt nam beann,
'S aig am na h-oidhich' bhios reulta 'soillseach ann ;
'M feadh bhios a' ghrian a' fiamhachadh an 16,
^>o gloir 's do chliii cha gearg 's cha mhuth ni 's mo.

36

ECHO'S A N S W E R.

I stood by the banks of a swift flowing river,
While I marked its clear current roll speedily past,

It seemed to my fancy for ever repeating
That the dearest enjoyments of life would not last.

Oh ! tell me, I said, rapid stream of the valley,
That bear'st in thy course the blue waters away,

Can the joys of life's morning awake but to vanish —
Can the feelings of love be all doomed to decay ?
An Echo repeated, — " All doomed to decay ! "

Flow on in thy course, rapid stream of the valley,
Since the pleasures of life we so quickly resign ;

My heart shall rejoice in the wild scenes of nature.
And friendship's delights while they yet may be mine.

Must all the swe^t charms of mortality perish —
And friendship's endearments, Ah ! will they not stay ?

The simple enchantments of soft blooming nature,
And the pleasures of mind, — must they too fade away?
The Echo slow answered, — *' They too fade away ! "

Then where, I exclaimed, is there hope for the mourner-
A balm for his sorrow — a smile for his grief?

If beautiful scenes like the present shall vanish
Where, where shall we look for a certain relief ?

Oh ! fly said my soul to the feet of thy Saviour,
Believe in his mercy, for pardon now pray :

With him there is fulness of joy and salvation —
Thy gladness shall live, and shall never decay,
The Echo said sweetly, " Shall never decay ! "

THE FIELD FLOWERS.

Ye field flowers ! the gardens eclipse you, 'tis true,
Yet, wildings of Nature, T doat upon you,

For ye waft me to summers of old,
When the earth teem'd around me with fairy delight,
And when daisies and buttercups gladden'dmy sight,

Like treasures of silver and gold.

I love you for lulling me back into dreams

Of the blue Highland mountains and echoing streams,

And of birchen glades breathing their balm ;
While the deer was seen glancing in sunshine remote,
And the deep mellow crush of the wood-pigeon's note

Aladc music that sweeten'd the calm.

37

FRBAGRADH MHIC-TALLA

Air bruaich aibhne 's mi'm sheasamh ag amharc gu beachdail
Air a glan shruthaibh cobh'rach 'ruith seachad gu cas,

Air leamsa gu 'n robh i a' sior chur an ceill domh
Gach sonas air thalamh nach mair ach car seal.

" 0 ! innis domh " thuirt mi. " a bhras shruth a' ghleannain,
A' d' chursa tha 'giulan nam fuar-uisge gorm,

'N teid gach sonas san t-saoghal mar so as an t-sealladh ?
Gach faireachduinn ghraidh 'n teid an gearradh air falbh ?

Thuirt Mactalla 's e 'freagairt, — " An gearradh air falbh."

Gabh air t' aghart a' t' amar, a bhras shruth a' ghleannain,
O'n tha solasan talmhaidh cho grad ri 'n toirt suas;

Ach mo chridhe bidh ait 'gabhail seallaidh air nadur,
'S am beannachdan cairdeis, o'n 's learn iad san uair.

'M feum gach ni a ni milis ar beo-shlaint dol seachad ?
A's beannachdan cairdeis am mair ach car uair ?

Gach toil-inntinn aon-f hillt' ann an nadur 'na cheud f has,
A's subhachais inntinn, 'n teid gu grad an toirt uainn ?

Thuirt Mactalla 's e 'freagairt, — " Gu grad an toirt uainn.''

" C' aite nis " a deir mise, " bheil dochas 'n f hir-thursa ?
C' a' bheil iocshlaint d'a thrioblaid a's saorsa o 'chall ?

Ma theid seallaidhnean aluinn mar so as an f hradharc,
Ri fuasgladh bhios mairionn c' ait' idir an seall ?

O ! teich-sa," deir in' anam " gu casan do -Shl&n'ir,
Dean maitheanas asluchadh, 's creid ann a ghradh ;

Oir annsan tha slaint' a-gus lauachd gun traoghadh,
A's t' aoibhneas bidh mairionn 's cha teirig gu brath ;

Thuirt Mactalla gu milis — " Cha teirig gu brath."

BLAITHEAN AN RAOIN.

A bhlaithean an raoin ! ged 's aillidh 'nan sgeimh
Blaithean a'ghuraidh, sibhse b' annsa leam fein,

Tha sibh 'g aiseag dhonah sauihraidhean m' oig',
*Nuair bha aoibhneas air aghaidh an t saoghail inu'n cuairt,
JSa bha buidheagan 's neoiueanan 'comhdach nain bruach,
A' fas air shnuadh airgid a's oir.

Is toigh leam sibh 'chionn a bhi 'tarruing a'mj chuirahn',
Beauntaibh lia-ghorm arda na Gaeltachd "s a h-uillt,

Agus reidhleauan cubhraidh uan cluau;
Far am faicinn am fiadli astar cian uam sa' ghrein,
'S an eluinninn an calaman air bharra nan geug,

Ri durdail throm a bu chianala fuaim.

38

Not a pastoral song has a pleasanter tune

Than ye speak to my heart littJe wildings of June :

Of old ruinous castles ye tell,

IV here- I thought it delightful your beauties to find,
When the Magic of Nature first breath'd on my mind,

And your blossoms' were part of her spell.

Even now what affections the violet awakes ;
What loved little islands, twice seen in their lakes,

Can the wild water lily restore;
What landscapes I read in the primrose's looks.
And what pictures of pebbled and minnowy. brooks,

In the vetches that tangled their shore.

Earth's cultureless buds, to my heart ye were dear,
Ere the fever of passion or ague of fear

Had scathed my existence's bloom ;
Once 1 welcome you more, in life's passionless stage,
With the visions of youth to revisit my age,

And I wish you to grow on my tomb.

DUART CASTLE.

The following Poem was composed by the Rev. Dr. John M'Leod*
of Morven, on seeing a flag waving from the battlements of Duart
Castle on a Sabbath morning, intimating to the surrounding peas-
antry that a sermon was to be preached on that day in the neigh-
bourhood. What is given on the opposite page, is not a literal
translation, but it gives the substance of the English. It is by Dr
M'Leod of Glasgow, a gentleman to whom the Highlanders are
more indebted than to any man living, for his labours in connex-
ion with their native literature.

On the war tower of Duart the banner is spread,
But 'tis not the banner of terror and dread ;
It sends the far summons, o'er mountain and heath,
But 'tis not the summons to onset and death.

It calls not the chieftain to gird on his might.
To send forth the war-cry, and arm for the fight ;
It calls not each clansman, in hostile array,
From his home and his kindred to hasten away.

It calls not the mother in anguish to mourn
( )'er the child of her hope as if ne'er to return ;
It calls not the widow, in forebodings of fear,
O'er her fatherless offspring to shed forth the tear.

39

Cha 'n 'eil oran na ceol a bheir solas do in' chri',
Mar ni sibhse a neoiueana boidheach na in ;

Tha sibh 'g innse mu liiraichcan uain',

Far am b' ait leam bhi 'tachairt ruibh 's dearc air 'ur gnuis,
\\uair a bheachdaicb mi iongantais nfiduir an tus,

'S bha 'ur 'u ailleachd-se 'dusgadh mo sniuain.

Nach tigbluthsann am chri', 'nuair achi mi'n t-sail-chuach—
Nach iornad seinih-lochan tior uisg' le'n iunseagan uain',

Thig a'm' chuimhne, 'sua duileagaibh bait' ;
Nach iomad sealladh is leur dhomh san t-sobhrach 'sglan snuadh
Nach iomad allt briceineach, bulbhagach, luath,

'Sa' pheasair-luchag mu'ni bruachaibh a' fas !

Fhiadh-bhKtithean nan raon ! bha sibh ionmhuinn 'sna laith,
Mu'n d' rinn buaireas inntinn, iomagaiu no cradh,

Mo chaileachd a mhilleadli 'smo shnuadh,
Failte dhuibh f hathast ann am feasgar mo shaogh'il.,
Thigh'nn le taibhsean na h-6ige 'thoirt solas do m' aois,

'S tha mi guidhe sibh a chinntinn air m' uaigh.

CAISTBAL DHUAIRT.

Air do bhallachaibh aosda a Dhuairt nan saoi,
Gur h-aluinn do bhratach a' anainh auns a' ghaoith ;
Air a' bhaideal m'an iadh an eidheann gu h-ard,
Tha'n sanus r'a f haicinn air maduinn an aigh.

Tha m'anam a' lasadh le aiteas, 's le faoilt,
'An leirsinn do bhrataich, a Dhuairt a' chaoil ;
An ur bhratach aluinu, gu h-ard ris a' chi-ann,
Tha lionadh le solas luchd-aiteach' nam beann.

Cha sanus a dhusgadh na duthcha gu bltir,
Cha sanus gu eiridh le cheile gu h-ar,
Cha sanus gu coinhrag, gu creach, no gu strith,
Ach sanus tha 'taladh gu aros na sith.

Failt air a' bhrataich, — O 's taitneach an sgeul !
Tha i 'sgaoileadh an diugh mu eirthir a' chaoil ;
Air moch-thra na sabaid chaidh a luasga sa' ghaoith,
A dhusgadh na duthcha gu liith-chuirt nail laoidh.

Cha'n'eil fiarah air an oigh' roi' bhratach an aigh,
Gu'n gairmear air falbh uaipe leanuan a graidh ;
Tha mathair nam fleasgach gun eagal, gun f huath,
A' f aicinn an t-sanuis air Caisteal nan stuadh.

40

For the banner that waves is a banner of peace,
And the tidings it bears are the tidings of grace ;
In the stillness of Sabbath 'tis wafted abroad,
To assemble the clansmen to worship their God.

Oh ! thus may each banner of discord and strife,
Yet send forth the tidings of gladness and life r
Thus calling on mankind with joyful accord,
To appear at His altar to worship the Lord.

MY MOTHER.

Who fed me from her gentle breast,
Who hush'd me in her arms to rest,
And on my cheek sweet kisses prest ?

My Mother.

"When sleep forsook my open eye,
Who was it sang sweet lullaby,
And rock'd me that I should not cry ?

My Mother.

Who sat and watch'd my infant head,
When sleeping in my cradle bed,
And tears of sweet affection shed ?

My Mother,

When pain and sickness made me cry,
Who gazed upon my heavy eye,
And wept for fear that I should die ?

My Mother.

Who ran to help me when I fell,
And would some pretty story tell,
Or kiss the part to make it well ?

My Mother.

Who taught my infant lips to pray,
To love God's holy word and dayr
And walk in wisdom's pleasant way?

My Mother.

And can I ever cease to be,
Affectionate and kind to thee,
Who wast so very kind to me,

My Mother?

41

t-aosda, ^s e 1g 6iridh le faoilt air a gliruaidh,
" O chi mi an sanus tha 'tional an t-sluaigh !
Mo cheum ged is anfhann, 's mo chiabh ged is liatli,
Theid mi le solas thabhairt aoradh do m' Dhia."

O naeh robh bratach gaeh duthcha, 's gach tir' !
Air an sgaoileadh mar so air maduinn na sith,
A' toirt caiseamaclul ard a thuigeadh na sloigh,
lad a dh'aoradh do'n Ti d'an dligheach gaeh gloir.

MO MHATHAIR.

Co thog mi air a ciochaibh tla,

'Sa tbalaidh mi gu suain le baigh,

'S a dh' alirum mi 'na k-uchd le gradh ;

Mo Mhithair.

1Nuair theieh an cadal fada uam
Co thog an guth bu bhinne fuaim,
Airchor 'sgu1n thuit mi ann a'm' shuain ?

Mo Mliathair.

Co dh' f hair thairis orm gu caomh,
'S mi 'm luidhe anns a' chreathail f haoin,
'S a ehil na deoir le baigh cho caoin ?

Mo Mhathair.

Fo euslainte 'nuair bha mPn sas,
O am gu h-am nfs laige 'fas,
Co ghuil le geilt gu'm faighinn bas ?

Mo Mhathair.

Co a ruith gu m' thogail suas,
'S a chogair sgeula beag a' m' chluais,
JS a phog air falbh mo Icon le truas ?

Mo Mhathair.

Co air urnuigh dhuisg mo dheigh,
Do f hocal naomh a's latha Dhe,
Gu triall 'na shlighe dhireach, reidh ?

Mo Mhathair.

Am feud e bith nach deanar leara,
Caidreamh a's caoimhneas riut gach am,
A bha cho baigheil, chaoimhneil rium,

Mo Mhathair?

Oh no! the thought I cannot bear ;
And, if God please my life to spare,
I hope I shall reward thy care,

My Mother.

When thou art feeble, old, and grey,
My healthy arm shall be thy stay,
And I will soothe thy pains away,

My Mother.

And when I see thee hang thy head,
'Twill be my turn to watch thy bed,
And tears of sweet affection shed,

My Mother.

VERSES

As if they had been composed by Alexander Selkirk, during his
solitary abode on the island of Juan Fernandez.

I am monarch of all I surrey,

My right there is none to dispute ;

Prom the centre all round to the sea,
I am lord of the fowl and the brute.

0 solitude ! where are the charms
That sages have seen in thy face ?

Better dwell in the midst of alarms,
Than reign in this horrible place.

1 am out of humanity's reach.

I must finish my journey alone,
Never hear the sweet music of speech, —

I start at the sound of my own.
The beasts, that roam over the plain,

My form with indifference see ;
They are so unacquainted with man,

Their tameness is shocking to me.

Society, friendship, and love,

Divinely bestow'd upon man,
0, had I the wings of a dove,

How soon would I taste you again !

43

Cha 'n f heud — b'e sin a bhi gun truas ;

'S ma churnas Dia mo bheatha suas,

Cha bhi do chaoimhneas dhomh gun duals,

Mo Mhathair.

'Nuair dh' f hasas tusa lag sa' cheum,
Gheibh thu lorg o m' ghairdein fein,
'S bithidh mi a' m' thaice dhuit a' d' f heum,

Mo Mhathair.

'Nuair chailleas tu do luth 's do tbreoir,
Ni mi faireadh ort le deoir,
A dh' oidhch' 's a latha bi'dh mi d' choir,
Mo Mhathair.

RANNAN

Mar gu'u rachadh an deanamh le Alasdair Selcirc, anuair a bha
e 'na aonaran air eilein luan Fernandes.

Tha mi 'm righ air na chi mi mu'ii cuairt,

Cha 'n 'eil aon ann ' chur suarach mo reachd ;
Fad na tire gu criochaibh a' chuain,

Tha gach eun agus fia'-bhea'ch fo m' smachd.
0 aonrachd ! c'a' bheil gach buaidh

Chaidh a luaidh ort cho trie ann an dan ?
B' f hearr gaoir-chatha gach latha bhi 'm chluais,

Na bhi 'm righ an ait' oillteil mar tha.

Tha mi far nach faigh duine a'm' choir,

'A'm onar thig crioch air mo reis,
Cha chluinn mi aon f hocal na cainnt,

Thig clisg orm le fuaim mo ghuth fein.
Tha gach beathach tha 'siubhal an raoin,

'Gam f haicinn gun ioghnadh gun sgath ;
Tha iad sin cho neo-chleachdta ri daoin',

Tha oillt orm am faicinn cho cald'.

Comh-chomunn, a's cairdeas, a's gaol,
Chaidh a bhuileach* air daoinibh o'n aird,

Na'm biodh agam-sa sgiathan an eoin,
'S mi mhealadh a ris sibh gun dail !

44

My sorrows then I might assuage
In the ways of religion and truth,

Might learn from the wisdom of age;
And be cheer'd hy the sallies of youth.

Religion ! What treasure untold

Resides in that heavenly word !
More precious than silver and gold,

Or all that this earth can afford.
But the sound of the church-going bell

These vallies and rocks never heard,
Never sigh'd at tbe Bound of a knell,

Or smiled when a Sabbath appear 'd.

Ye winds, that have made me your sport,

Convey to this desolate shore
Some cordial, endearing report

Of a land I shall visit no more.
My friends, do they now and then send

A wish or a thought after me ?
0 tell me I yet have a friend,

Though a friend I am never to see.

How fleet is a glance of the mind !

Compared with the speed of its flight,
The tempest itself lags behind,

And the swift- winged arrows of light.
When I think of my own native land,

In a moment I seem to be there ;
But, alas ! recollection at hand

Soon hurries me back to despair.

But the sea fowl is gone to her nest,

The beast is laid down to his lair ;
Even here is a season of rest,

And I to my cabin repair.
There's mercy in every plaoe,

And mercy, encouraging thought !
Gives even affliction a grace,

And reconciles man to his lot.

45

An sin gheibhinn fois agus sith

Ann an soisgeul na firinn, o m' bhrfim,

Dh* f haodainn foghlum o ghlioeas na h-aoi»,
'S a bhi aobhach an cuideachd na h-6ig'.

An Soisgeul ! an t-ionmbas thar luach

Tha r'a f haotainn am focal an aigh!
Tha e priseil tbar airgiod a's or,

No aon ni air tbalamh a ta.
Acb cba chualas clag-eaglaise riamh

Ann an so, feadh nan liath-chreag 's nan gleann,
Cha do f hreagair fuairn thiamhaidh a' bhroin

A's Sabaid cha 'u aithnicbear annt'.

A gbaotban a dhf f huadaich mi slos,

Do 'n ditbreabb tha aonarach, las,
Cuiribb sgeul orm bbeir aoibhneas do m' ehridh7

Mu thir do nacb till mi gu bratb.
'Bheil mo cbairdean a db'f hag mi a'm' dheigh,

'Cur guidhe no smuain air mo thoir ?
0 innis gu bbeil caraid a lath'ir,

Ged nacb f baic mise caraid ni's mo.

Tba 'inntinn an duine ni 's luaith'

A' gluasad na aon ni a th' ann ;
An coimeas, cba siubhail a' ghaoth,

'S caol-shaigbdean an t-soluis ach mall.
'Nuair tbig duthaich mo sbinnsear a'm bbeacbd,

'Sann a sbaoileas mi 'thiota bhi tball ;
Acb tba cuimhne gu luath 'tighinn a steacb,

A's tr&gidh gach dochas a mbeall.

Acb tha 'n eunlaith a' falbh thun an nid,

'S gacb fia'-bhea'cb do cbosaibh an t-sleibh ;
Tba am fois againn eadhon an so,

'S theid mise do m' bhothan learn f hein.
Tba trocair, r'a f haotainn 's gacb ait',

A's trocair, nacb agh'or an sinaoin !
A leighseas gacb trioblaid a's bron

A tha 'n toir air clanna nan daoin'.

46

DESTRUCTION OF THE ASSYRIANS.
2 Kings, xix. 35.

The Assyrian came down like a wolf on fche fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen ;
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd ;
And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heav'd and for ever grew still !

And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide,
But through it»there roll'd not the breath of his pride :
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.

And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail ;
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblowu.

Ana the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ;
And the might of the Gentile unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord !

L A V I N I A. .

The lovely, young Lavinia once had friends,
And fortune smil'd, deceitful, on her birth ;
For, in her helpless years depriv'd of all,
Of every stay, save innocence and Heaven.
She, with her widow'd mother, feeble, old,
And poor, lived in a cottage, far retir'd
Among the windings of a woody vale ;
By solitude and deep surrounding shades,
But more by bashful modesty, conceal'd.

47

SGRIOS NAN ASIRIANACH.
2 High, xix. 35.

Chrom Senacherib mar reub-chu air cro,

Bha 'armailt a' dealradh le airgiod a's or ;

Bha boillsgeadh a lannan mar reultaibh 's a' chuan,

Feadh oidhch' air a luasgadh lo gaoith thig o thuath,

Mar dhuileach na coille \an Samhradh 'na ghloir,

Bu lionmhor a threun-laoich 'n am na greine 'dhol fodh' ;

Mar dhuileach na coille 's an Fhogharadh reot'

Bha 'ghaisgich sa' mhaduinn sgapt', seargta, gun treoir.

Sgaoil Aingeal a' Bhais a sgiath air a' ghaoith,

A's sheid e le 'anail air aghaidh nan daoi ;

Air suaimhneas an tamha thuit pramh-chadal fuar,

Aon phlosg thug gach cridhe — cha do phlosg ach aon uair.

Le chuineanan farsuing luidh an t-each air an f hraoch,
Ach trompa cha d' tharruing e sitir a chaoidh ;
Bha coip gheal a phlosgaidh gu fuar air an f honn,
Mar chobhar na raara air sgeir nan garbh thonn.

Bha 'm marcach na shineadh 's bu diblidh a shnuadh,
A' mheirg air a chlogad 'san dealt air a ghruaidh ;
Gach bratach na h-aonar, gach pailliuu mar uaigh,
Gach sleagh bha gun togail, 'sgach gall-tromp gun fhuaim.

Bha banntraichean Ashuir fo anradh 'sfo thurs',

A's iodhcilnn Bhaail 's gach aite 'n an smur ;

A's spiounadh a' Chinnich nach do inhilleadh 's an ar,

Leagh iad, O! Thighearn, mar shneachd ann a'd' lath'ir.

LABHINIA.

Bha cairdean aon uair aig Labhinia 6g,
An aiimir aillidh. Dh'f hag iad i gu moch ;
'Xa naoidhean chaill i 'h-uile earbsa 's taic,
A h-uile dion, — ach neo-chiontas a's neamh.
Le 'mathair, bauntrach uireasbh'ach a's lag,
Am bo than losal chomhnuicli iad le ch«'il' ;
Folaicht' o dhaoiuibh 'n diomhaireachd nan gleann,
Fo dhubhar chraobh an uaigneas samhach, seimh,
Gu mor ni 's mo le macantachd a's beus.

48

Together thus they shunn'd the cruel scorn

Which virtue, sunk to poverty, would meet

From giddy passion and low-minded pride :

Almost on Nature's common bounty fed ;

Like the gay birds that sung them to repose,

Content, and careless of to-morrow's fare.

Her form was fresher than the morning rose,

When the dew wets its leaves ; unstain'd, and pure,

As is the lily, or the mountain snow.

The modest virtues mingled in her eyes,

Still on the ground dejected, darting all

Their humid beams into the blooming flowers :

Or when the mournful tale her mother told,

Of what her faithless fortune promis'd once,

Thrill'd in her thought, they, like the dewy star

Of evening, shone in tears. A native grace

Sat fair proportion'd on her polish'd limbs,

\7eil'd in a simple robe, their best attire,

Beyond the pomp of dress ; for loveliness

Needs not the foreign aid of ornament,

But is, when unadorn'd, adorn'd the most.

Thoughtless of beauty, she was beauty's self,

Recluse amid the close-embow'ring woods,

As in the hollow breast of Appenine,

Beneath the shelter of encircling hills,

A myrtle rises, far from human eye,

And breathes its balmy fragrance o'er the wild ;

So flourish'd, blooming, and unseen by all,

The sweet Lavinia.

THE SABBATH MORNING.

How still the morning of the hallow'd day !
Mute is the voice of rural labour, hushed
The ploughboy's whistle, and the milkmaid's song.
The scythe lies glittering in the dewy wreath
Of tedded grass, mingled with fading flowers,
That yester-morn bloom'd waving in the breeze.
Sounds the most faint attract the ear — the hum
Of early bee, the trickling of the dew.
The distant bleating midway up the hill.
Calmness sits throned on yon unmoving cloud.
To him who wanders o'er the upland leas,
The blackbird's note comes mellower from the dale ;

49

Le cheile sheachain iad mar so an tair,

Tha daoine 'deanamh tha air at le uaill,

Air maise 's beusachd ann an la an airc.

Bu ghann an Ion, 's cha mhor nach b' ionann fos

A's coin nan geug, a thalaidh iad gu suain,

lad sona 'n diugh, suarach mu'n am ri teachd.

Bu chubhraidh 'dealbh na blath a' cheitein iiir

Fo-dhealt na maduinn mhoich, bu ghloine 'snuadh,

Na'n canach fein, no'n sneachd air uchd nam beann.

Bha macantas cho caoin 'na suil ghuirm chiuin

Is gann a thog i, 'dearcadh sios le baigh

Air snuadh nan neoinean 's air na blaithibh maoth' ;

No 'nuair a dh' eisdeadh i ri sgeul a' bhroin,

Mu chaochladh 'dochais bha aon uair cho ard,

Mar reul an anmoich dh' aomadh iad a sios

Fo dhealta tlath nan deur.— B' aillidh a dealbh,

A' mhaighdean dhreachmhor so bu mhaisich' fiamh ;

Le trusgan eutrom dh' eideadh i gu grinn

Ni b' f hearrna riomhadh ard: — a h-killeachd-sa

Cha'n iarradh sgeimh no snas o riomhadh ids j

Gun riomhadh idir 's ann bu riomhaich' i ;

Suarach m'a h-ailleachd, b' ailleachd i air fad,

An ribhinn aonarach 'an uaigneas ghleann.

Mar ann an doimhneashd dhiomhair tir nam beann,

An coire fasgach, no an glacaibh blath,

A chinneas sobhrach fad' o sheaUadh sul,

Le faile fallain 'mach air feadh an raoin ;

Mar sin gu cubhraidh a's gun f hios do'n t-saoghl

Gu lurach aluinn 'chuin Labhinia suas.

MADUINN NA SABAID.

Nach samhach maduinn chiuin an latha naoimh !
Tha maim an t-saoghail balbh. Cha chluinnear fos
'Sa bhuaile luinneag, no an f head air raon.
Tha'n speal 'na sineadh anns an f heur fo dhriichd,
Na blaithean maoth a'(seargadh anns an spadh,
Ge b' urail ait iad anns a' ghaoith an de.
Cluinnear an f huaim is faoine, — eadhon srann
An t-seillein mhoich, a's braona tlath an di'uchd,
A's m&ilich ehaorach 's iad air uchd an t-sleibh.
Tha fiath mar bhan-righ anns na speuraibh shuas. '
Dhasan tha 'mach air feadh nam bruachan ard
'N lon-dubh tha 'seinn ni's binn', air leis, o'n ghleann ;

50

And sweeter from tha sky the gladsome lark

Warbles his heaven tuned song ; the lulling brook

Murmurs more gently down the deep- worn glen ;

"While from yon lowly roof, whose curling smoke

O'ermounts the mist, is heard, at intervals,

The voice of psalms — the simple song of praise.

With dove-like wings, Peace o'er yon village broods :

The dizzying mill-wheel rests ; the anvil's din

Hath ceased ; all, all around is quietness.

Less fearful on this day, the limping hare,

Stops and looks back, and stops, and looks on man,

Her deadliest foe. The toil-worn horse, set free,

Unheedful of the pasture, roams at large ;

And, as his stiff, unwieldy bulk he rolls,

His iron- arm 'd hoofs gleam in the morning ray.

But chiefly Man the day of rest enjoys.
Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail, the poor man's day.
On other days the man of toil is doom'd
To eat his joyless bread, lonely ; the ground
Both seat and board ; screen'd from the winter's cold
And Summer's heat, by neighbouring hedge or tree.
But on this day, embosom'd in his home,
He shares the frugal meal with those he loves :
"With those he loves he shares the heart-felt joy
Of giving thanks to God, — not thanks of form —
A word and a grimace — but reverently,
With covered face and upward, earnest eye.

Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail, the poor man's day.
The pale mechanic now has leave to breathe
The morning air, pure from the city's smoke.
While, wandering slowly up the river side,
He meditates on Him, whose power he marks
In each green tree that proudly spreads the bough,
As in the tiny dew-bent flowers that bloom
Around its roots ; and while he thus surveys,
With elevated joy each rural charm,
He hopes, yet fears presumption in the hope.
That heaven may be one Sabbath without end.

THE SABBATH.

("When the late Mr Patrick M'Farlane translated to Gaelic the

v on the Sanctification of the Lord's Day," written by the

Rev. Samuel Gilfillan, Minister of Comrie (father of the celebrated

;•.• Gilfillau), he got the late learned and accomplished Mr

51

An riabhag dhirich i an diugh gu neamh,

Le 'feadan ceolmhor ; tha'n t-alltau fein

Gu mor ni's reidhe a1 siubhal sios roi'ii ghleann.

O'n bhothan bheag ud as am faicear smuid

Ag eiridh caol os ceann a' cheo, tha fuaim

Nam salma mills — laoidhean naomha, biun.

Tha sith os ceann a' bhaile bhig ud thai I,

An t-innein chlos ; tha h-uile ni 'na thamh.

Tha mhaidheach fein, ge fiamhach i, a' stad,

Le 'suil 'na deigh, a' beachdachadh gun gheilt

Air duine, a namhaid bhorb. Tha'n gearran trom,

Gun taod no teothair 'g ionaltradh gu saor ;

Air leud a dhroma 'cur nan car le strigh,

A' baoisgeadh 'chruidhean os a cheann ri grein.

Ach 's leats' a dhuine an suaimhueas so mar sheilbh.
Failt' air an la naomh, Ik chur sglos nam bochd !
Re laithean eile air an claoidh gu goirt,
'Nan aonar ithidh iad gu grad an Ion
Air an lorn bhlar, fo dhion o theas no f huachd,
Am fasgadh creige, no fo dhubhar chraobh ;
Ach dhachaidh thig iad air an latha naomhs',
Gu h-ait le luchd an graidh gun suidh iad sios
A' roinn an loin, 'sa thogail suas le cheil'
An altacha do Dhia — cha'n ann gu faoin
Le focal, no le gluasad beoil, ach fos
Le suil gu neamh, 's an cridhe 'n sas gu dluth.

Failt' air an latha naomh ! failt' air la nam bochd !
Fhuair am fear-ceirde glas an diugh a chead,
'S e 'falbh o smuid a' bhaile-mhuir gu trath,
Ri bruaich na h-aibhne dh' iarr e'm iaile glan ;
A' beachdachadh le taing 'an aird' nan craobh, .
'Nan duilleach uaine, 's anns na blaithibh maotli
Air cumhachd glormhor Dhe. — 'S le solas ait
Mar tha e 'breithneachadh gu stold' leis fein
Tha e fo dhochas, ( ge nach ann gun fhiamh )
Our Sabaid shiorruidh bhios faidheoidh air neamh.

AN T- SABAID.

Failte dhuit, a Shabaid chaomh !

'S tluth do thamh do 'n t-saoithreach bhochd,

A chuir na sea laithean cian,

'Ga bhuan chlaidreadh lo gnlomh goirt !

52

Ewan M'Lachlan, rector of the Grammar School, Aberdeen to
translate the following extracts from " Grahame's Sabbath," which
were given in the Appendix to the above Essay. Although this
translation is rather a paraphrase on the original, yet, like all Mr
M'Lachlan's compositions, the execution of it is so masterly that
we feel much pleasure in giving it here. Mr M'Lachlan was the
translator of " The Messiah," the first piece given in this Collec
tion, and also of many other pieces, the most important of which
is the " Iliad of Homer." Only mere specimens of this work have
been printed ; but we are informed that the entire MS. is in the
hands of a female relative of Mr M'Lachlan, residing at Fortwil-
liara, who is somewhat reluctant to give it up for publication. We
would recommend to some of those Societies, (say the Glasgow
Celtic Society) who are so desii'ous to encourage and foster Gaelic
literature to rescue this MS. from oblivion, by getting it published
with all possible speed.]

Hail, Sabbath ! thee I hail, the poor-man's day ;

On other days, the man of toil is doom'd

To eat his joyless bread lonely ; the ground

Both seat and board, — screened from the winter's cold

And summer's heat, by neighbouring hedge or tree ;

But on this day, embosomed in his home,

He shares the frugal meal with, those he loves,

With those he lores he shares the heart-felt joy

Of giving thanks to God ; not thanks of form,

A word and a grimace, but reverently,

With covered face, and upward earnest eye.

The pale mechanic now has leave to breathe —
He hopes, yet fears .presumption in the hope,
To reach those realms where Sabbath never ends,
But now his steps a welcome sound recalls,
Solemn the kneh1 from yonder ancient pile
Fills all the air, inspiring joyful awe :
Slowly the throng moves o'er the tomb-pav'd ground ;
The aged man, the bowed down, the blind
Led by the thoughtless boy, and he who breathes
With pain, and eyes the new-made grave, well-pleas'd ;
These mingled with the young, the gay, approach
The house of God : These, spite of all their ills,
A glow of gladness feel ; with silent praise
They enter in. A placid stillness reigns,
Until the man of God, worthy the name,

53

Aonarach trom dh' ith e 'Ion,

A shuidhe 's a bhord am feur ;

Geug fo bhlath, no call aid chrion,

'Ga dhidein o shion rian speur.

Faic e'n diugh gu seasgair, seimh,

Ri fois air an laraich ghaoil ;

A' furan cuirme gun straic

'An comunn r'a chairdibh caoin.

'An comunn muiuntireach a ruin

'S eibhinn e 'toirt cliu d'a Righ ;

Comhdach mu 'glmuis, suil ri neamli,

'S cha'n f huar-chrabhadh 'ghnith's gun bhrigh.

Is fois do fhear-ceird an droch neoil,

Daingeann a dhoigh, ge' mor 'f hiamh,

Gum buannaich e 'n aimsir ghearr

Rioghachd 'snach faic Sabaid crioch.

Faic mar thill e sud roi'n reidh,
A's fuaim 'na chluasaibh o'n t-seis bhinn ;
Beumadh clilag bu ghleadhrach pong,
O tbiir an t-seann aitreabh dhuinn.
A' siubhal troi'n ailean chiiiin,
Fiamh ait 'ga dhiisgadh 's gach cliabh ;
'S thar comhnard leacach nan uaigh
Tiugh-dhortadh an t- si uaigh a' triall.
An t-aosda, 'san crom, 'san dall,
'S gille nan teum baoth 'na cheann ;
Euslaint' ag ainich le pein,
A lamh critheach, 's a cheum mall !
Le farmad tha beachd a shiil
Air leabaidh ghuirm ur nam fold ;
'S e 'snagan gu aros De
Mar ri treud nan treun 's nan og.
Ge tiirsach iad sud 's ge trom
Lasaidh ?nan cuim fonn gu ceol,
A' direadh a steach faraon,
Le balbh aoradh do'n BHITH-MHOR.
Feuch, tha na mil lean 'nan tosd —
Seall 'ga nochdadh teachdair' Dhe !
Dh'f hosgal e'm Biobull le gridh,
A's luaidh e reachd aigh nan speur.
Eiridh mar chomhla na sloigh,
Le salm naomh 's le clarsaich ghrinn,
Cridhe 's beul a' gleusadh phong
A' coimeasgadh nam fonn binn.

ALBAINN ! gu'n deanainn riut faoilt,
"S tiorail learn raointean do ghleann ;
Feasgar Domhnuich thar gach truth

54

Opens the book, and reverentially
The stated portion reads. A pause ensues —
The people rising, sing, With harp, with harp,
And voice of psalms, harmoniously attun'd

The various voices blend.

O Scotland ! much I love thy tranquil dales ;
But most on Sabbath-eve, when low the sun
Slants through the upland copse, 'tis my delight,
Wandering, and stopping oft, to hear the song
Of kindred praise arise from humble roofs ;
Or when the simple service ends, to hear
The lifted latch, and mark the grey-haired man,
The father and the priest, walk forth alone
Into his garden-plat, or little field,
To commune with his God in secret prayer ;
To bless the Lord that in his downward years
His children are about him —

THE VOICE OF DIVINE COMPASSION.

Sweet is morn's first breeze that strays on the mountain,
And sighs o'er its bosom, and murmurs away ;
And bright is the beam which upsprings from day's fountain,
And breaks o'er the East in its golden array.

And lovely the riv'let incessantly flowing,
Which winds, gently murm'ring, its course through the plain;
And welcome the beacon which faithfully glowing,
Cheers the heart of the mariner tost on the main.

But sweeter, my God, is thv voice of compassion,
Which soft as the summer's dew falls on the mind ;
Which whispers the tidings of life and salvation,
And casts the dark shadows of sorrow behind.

Oh yes ! I have known it, when kindly and cheering,
It hush'd the hoarse thunders of justice to rest ;
it was heard, and the angel of mercy appearing,
Pour'd the bairn of relief o'er the penitent's breast.

And still may I hear it, while crossing life's ocean,
Or borne on the billow, or breath'd in the gale ;
Enkindling the flame of expiring devotion,
And utt'ring the promise that never shall fail.

55

A' ciaraclh rau aird nam beann.
A' ghrian a' tearnadh do'n chnoc,
Soills' oir air choille gach bachd ;
Mise 'falbh an loin Vm thosd,
Lionmhor m' ioghnadh, mor mo thlachd :
'Bhi 'cluinntinn co'-sheirm nan gras
Ag eiridh. o fhardaich a' chaoil,
Taing 'ga dhiol do Righ nan righ,
Le run cridh' o dhream gun ghaoid.
*S ionmhuinn learn sud 'nuair theid tamh
Air gniomh nach ard-chuiseach gloir,
lall chadha 'ga tarruing siar
Koi'n f hear liath 's a ghluasad foil.
An sagart 's an t-athar graidh
Ag euladh troi'n bhlar leis fein
Gu bruaich an iomal an raoin,
No 'gharradh beag cliraobh nan seud ;
A chomhradh r'a Dhia le cliu,
Gu crabbach, durachdach, teann ;
A chionn gu bheil a chroilein cruinn
Seall mu'm faic a laithean ceann.

GUTH NA CAOMH THROCAIR.

'S milis 's an bg mhaduinn seimh-ghaoth air mbr bheanna',
A JT osnaich sa' mhbintich, 's a' monbhur air falbh ;
!> orbhuidh' an ceud-ghath tha 'lasadh o'n ghrein
'S an Ear, a's i 'g eiridh mar threun-f hear fo 'airm.

< ) ' "s milis an caochan tha 'sruthadh gun traoghadh,
"S !»• caithream a' caochladha churs' measg nan gleann ;
Is aoibhinn an t.soillse tha 'sebladh feadh oidhche
A" inharaich' fo ainneart, air faontradh feadh thonn.

Ach 's milse gun choimeas, a Dhe, guth do chaoimhneis,
Air m' anam a' boillsgeadh mar dhruchd air an f honn ;
Le ur-sgeul is aghinhoire, beath' agus sluinte,
A dh'f huadaich gach sgail dhorch1 a shuraich mi trom.

O seadh ! 's maith is eol domh, ro-chaoimhneil ga nr chbmhn adh
3Iar chlos i am mbr ghuth 'bha ceartas a' seirmj
A' cluinntinn an brduigh dhbirt aingeal na trbcair
loc-shliiinte na m" lebntaihh thug solas gun seirbh'.

A's daonnan nam' chluasaibb, 'smi 'sebladh air chuantaibh,
Gu'n cluinn mi 'n fhuaim cheudna 'an soirbheas, 's an tonn ;
A'dusgadh o chagailt gach eibhl'ann am aignibh.
Gam' lasadh gu tagairt a' gheallaidh nach meall.

56

Tis the still voice of Him who expir'd on the mountain.
And breath'd out for sinners his last dying groan;
His voice who on Calvary open'd the fountain,
Of water to cleanse, and of blood to atone.

That voice, Oh believer! shall cheer and protect thee,
"When the cold chill of death thy frail bosom invades;
At its sound shall the Day-Star arise to direct thee,
And gild with refulgence the valley of shades.

CULLODEN.*

The battle is fought on the bleak heather moor,

And the shield from the Gael has been wrenched in the stour ;

The sword has been broke in the grasp of the brave,

And the blood of the valiant is shed by the slave ;

The kilt and the plaid that adorned the free

By Cumberland's horsemen are trod on the lea,

While the leal-hearted clansmen, whose limbs they arrayed,

On the battle-field mangled and gory are laid.

In the land of the mountains are wailing and woe ;
Its bonneted chieftains are vanquished and low ;
The warriors that life in defeat would not hold,
On the hill of Culloden are lifeless and cold.

Farewell, royal Charles ! the conflict is o'er :
Thy ancestors' kingdom no strife can restore ;
Thine essay with the clans of my love has been grand,
The fame of whose prowess for ever shall stand.

* Dr M'Leod, in giving his thrilling narrative of the rising of
the Highlanders in 1745 in the " Gaelic Messenger," of which he
was Editor, concluded his account of the battle of Culloden by
giving the short but touching Poem of which the English is a
translation. While on the subject of Culloden in connection with
"10 \\ecannotresistthe impulse of giving the following spirited
linos, published some years ago in the "Inverness Advertiser," as
a suitable inscription for the proposed Monument to be erected on
Culloden Moor, to perpetuate the memory of the unfortunate but
valiant clansmen who fell on that memorable day.—

" Mu'n cuairt an t-sleibh 'tha fo m' bhonn
Tha iornadadh sonn euchdach,

57

'Se guth ciuin an Ti rinn air Calbhari iobairt
(Cha'n ann arson fhirein) d'a spiorad 's d'a f heoil,
O 'n do ruith uisge -coisrigt' a's fuii a chuir casgadh
Air cruaidh eigh a' cheartais ag agairt a choir.

Tha'n gutii so a chriosduidh, mar sholas 's mar sgiath dhuit,
'N uair tha'ra has 'teachd a t'iarruidh gu d' chaol leabai' f huair ;
Reult na Maidne ag eiridh aig fuaini a ghuth eibhinn,
'Sle br-bhrat ag eudacb gleann iargait nan uaigh.

CUIL-FHODAIR.

Tha'm blar air achur air monadh an fhraoich,
Tha'n sgiath air a spionadh o ghuaillibh nan laoch ;
Bhristeadh an claidheamh ann an lamhaibh nan saoi,
'S tha fuil nam fear geala fo bhonnaibh^nan daoi.

Tba 'm breacan 's an t-f heile leis an d'eideadh na sair,
Le marcaichibh Shasunn air an saltairt ri lar ;
Tha'n suaicheautas uasal a chomhdaich na suinn,
R'a fhaicinn 's an arf haich gun ailleachd, gun loinn.

Ann an duthaich nam mor-bheann tha uamhas a's caoidh,
Luchd nam boineid, 's nam breacan cha'n f haicear a chaoidh,
Na fir ura bu treine nach geilleadh 's iad beo,
Air monadh Chiiil-f hodair, gun phlosg a's gun deo.

Slan leat a Thearlaich, chaidh an iomairt le each ;
Oighreachd do shinnsir, chaidh i dhi ort gu brath,
Thug thu'n oidhirp, 's bu treun i, le gaisgich mo ghraidh ;
'S bi'dh iomradh 'ur cruadail air a luaidh gu la bhrath.

A thuit a sios air an fhonn

Le buillean a's trom chreuchdan;
'S na'm faigheadh iad cothrorn nan lann

A tharruinn ie'n teann f heithean,
Bu lionmhor colunn a's ceann

A sgaradh an dream gun eislean ;
'S bhiodh a chaochladh a nis 'san rann

R'a aithris mu am an leirsgrios.
Ach'bhuadhaich miosgaiu a's foill,

'S chaidh laoich na loinu a reubadh;
Mar shamhladh chuireadh mis' a chaoidh

Gach la 'sgach oidhch' mar dh'eirich;
'S cluinneam troi' mheanglain na coill'

Mic Albainn a' caoidh nan Treun Fheaiv

58

THE GOLDEN AGE.— FROM OVID.

How blest the golden age in early times,

When no avenger knew, or punished crimes ;

When faith and truth spontaneously prevailed,

"When fear or force no happy mind assailed.

No threatening edicts, 'graved in lasting brass,

No trembling culprit heard his sentence pass,

No frowning judge impressed the crowd with awe,

But all were safe without avenging law.

As yet no pines their native mountains leave

To cut in crooked keels the liquid wave ;

No mortals ventured yet to shores unknown,

For all enjoyed the blessings of their own.

No ditches deep yet peaceful towns surround,

No brazen trumpets clang with warlike sound,

No soldier yet, nor shield, nor shining sword,

But peace secure the golden times afford.

The earth itself no toil or culture knew,

But fruits which nature gave luxuriant grew ;

And happy men, with frugal viands blessed,

Delicious cherries from the mountains pressed.

Cornels and berries, which the brambles love,

And acorns from the shady tree of Jove.

In endless spring spontaneous flowers exhale

Their spicy fragrance on the fostering gale ;

The earth unplough'd grows white with bending corn,

Unnumbered fruits each fertile field adorn ;

Now, streams of milk, or floods of nectar flow,

And yellow honey bursts from every bough.

What is given on the opposite page was suggested by, and written
in imitation of Ovid's " Golden age."

THE BEGGAR'S PETITION.

Pity the sorrows of a poor, old man,
Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door ;
Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span,
Oh ! give relief, and heaven will bless your store.

59
LINN AN AIGH.

B'i linn an aigh a bh'ann 's na laithibh cein

Le sonas araidh, mar a dan' an sgeul ;

Bha sith a's suaimhneas seasmhach, buan gach tratb,

Le cairdeas ^obhach, caoimhneil, gradhach, tlath.

Ceilg, creach, no ainneart cha robh ann ni's mo,

Bha sannt a dhith, 's bha 'n cridhe fior, gun gho ;

'S an ceumaibh ceartais bha gach neach a' triall,

Le sochair nadurr', 's ann an cairdeas fial.

Cha robh 's an linn ud lagh gu diogh'ltas trom,

Bha caomh-lagh naduir ceart a' tamh 's gach com ;

'S da reir gach uair bhiodh beus an t-sluaigh gu glic,

'S cha bhiodh na moid 'gan gairm gu comhail trie.

'N sin cha do chleachd iad a bhi 'teachd le fiamh

A chluinntinn reachd nam breitheamh reachdail, dian ;

No comhghair uallach inneal b' fhuaimneach srann,

A thional sluaigh gu comhrag cruaidh nan lann.

Mar so gu tearuint', suaimhneach, seimh bha'n tamh

Gun sgiith, gun churam ac' roimh ionnsuidh namh ;

'S an luaidh gu sior air euchd an sinnsear treun,

Fo iomradh dhan nam pong a b' airde gleus.

'N an tir, gun f hogradh, bhiodh an comhnuidh buan,

Mu'n d' fhuair iad miagh air cearnaibh cian a' chuain ;

'S mu'n d' ghabh an Gaidheal cead gu brath le bron

Do "ghlinn a ghraidh 's an d' fhuair e arach 6g,"

'S do thir an aigh, nam fraoch-bheann ard 's nan gleann,

'S nan sraithean aibhneach, dreacht' le coill nan cranh.

Gach aite trie dha dh'araich sliochd an fheidh,

Le siol na h-earb' gu pailt air leirg gach sleibh,

'San sir-iasg rioghail. 's lann-bhreac 'sriomhach suuadh,

Aig bruachaibh aithean cian o thraigh a' chuain ;

'S an spreidh gu cuanda, bliochdar, guanach, aih",

Air machair ui-or feoir bu shugh'or cail.

Le cluantaibh reidh do 'm b' f heartar eibhinn snuadh,

'S an comhair sil bu shaoibhir diol do'n t-sluagh ;

Mar so bha inaom gu saibhir, saor gu'n deoiu,

'S an comhnuidh ghleann cha b'eol dhoibh ganntar loin.

ACHUINGE AN DEIRCICH.

Gabh truas do bhron an t-seann duin' f hann,

'S a bhuill air chrith 'ga iomchar chum do theach ;

Tha 'laithe 'nis ach beag air teachd gu ceann,

Dean comhnadh ris 's bidh agh a'd' mhaoin gu beachd.

60

These tatter'd rags my poverty bespeaks,
These hoary locks proclaim my lengthened years ;
And many a furrow in my grief- worn cheek,
Has been the channel to a flood of tears.

Yon house, erected on the rising ground,
With tempting aspect drew me from my road ;
For plenty there a residence has found,
And grandeur a magnificent abode.

Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor!
Here as I craved a morsel of their bread,
A pampered menial drove me from the door,
To seek a shelter in a humbler shed.

Oh ! take me to your hospitable dome,
Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold !
Short is my passage to the friendly tomb,
For I am poor and miserably old.

Should I reveal the sources of my grief,
If soft humanity e'er touched your breast,
Your hands would not with-hold the kind relief,
And tears of pity would not be represt.

Heaven sends misfortunes ; why should we repine ?
'Tis Heaven has brought me to the state you see ;
And your condition may be soon like mine,
A child of sorrow and of misery.

A little farm was my paternal lot,
Then, like the lark, I sprightly hailed the mom ;
But ah ! oppression forced me from my cot —
My cattle died, and blighted was my corn.

My daughter, once the comfort of my age,
Lured by a villain from her native home ;
Is cast abandoned on the world's wide stage,
And doomed in scanty poverty to roam.

My tender wife, sweet soother of my care, «

Struck with sad anguish at the stern decree ;
Fell, lingering fell, a victim to despair,
And left the world to wretchedness and me.

Pity the sorrows of a poor old man,

Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door ;

Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span,

Oh ! give relief, and heaven will bless your store.

61

Na broineagan so innsidh mi bhi bochd,
Mo chiabhan glasa dearbliaidh m' aois bhi mor ;
Gach preas a th'ann am ghruaidh luim chleachd
A bhi na sruth-chlais dhiomhair aig mo dheoir.

An tigh nd thall a th'air an ardan uain',
Le 'aghaidh shlearahain mheall mi bhar mo cheum ;
An sud f huair saibhreas ionad taimh a's suain,
A's morchuis riomhach cdmhnuidh ghrinn dh'i fein.

'S cruaidh cor an ti tha aimbeirteach a's fann !
An so 'n uair dh'iarram orra sud greim bidh,
Chuir oglach geocach mi air falbh le greann,
A dh'iarraidh fasgadh ann an sgail a b* isl'.

O ! gabh gun dail mi 'steach do t' f hardaich fhial,
Tha ghaoith ro chruaidh, a's mheith am fuachd mo chlith I
Is gearr mo chuairt do'n uaigh d'am bheil mi triall,
Oir tha mi uireas'ach a's aosmhor, sgith.

Na'n innsinn m' aobhar broin gu h-iomlan duit,
M'a inhaothaich daonnachd riamh le tlus do chrV,
Do lamh cha diultadh comhnadh dhomh an diugh,
*S bhiodh deur a' mhulaid 'ruith o d' ghruaidh gun dith.

An gearain sinn 'n uair thig mi-shealbh 'n ar dail ?
'S e 'm Freasdal thug mi chum na staid so fein ;
Do chorsa feudaidh bhi mar so gun dail,
A'd' leanabh thrioblaidean a's truaigh' fo'n ghrein.

'N uair f huair mi croiteag bheag o m' athair caoin,
Mar uiseig shunndaich dh'f hailtich mi gach la ;
Ach dh'f hogair foirneart mi o m' bhothan faoin —
Mo phor chaidh aog, a's f huair mo spreidh am bas.

Mo cighean ghi-aidh, 'bu chomhurtachd do m' aois,
Mheall daoi-f hear a3 a tir 's o dachaidh fein,
A's thilg air faontradh i, gun suim no speis,
Gu triall 'an ainibeairt ann an duthaich chein.

A's bean mo ghaoil, a dh' fhogradh curam uam.
Ghrad bhuail an t-6rdugh cruaidh so i le cradh;
'S thuit i na h-iobairt do ea-dochas buan,
A's dh' f hag an saoghail truagh so aig a gradh.

Gabh truas do bhron an t-seann duin' f hann,

'S a bhuill air chrith 'g a iomchar chum do theach ;

Tha 'laithe 'nis ach beag air teachd gu ceann,

Dean cdmhnadh ris 's bidh agh a'd' mhaoin gu beachd.

62

AFAR IN THE DESERT.

Afar in the desert I love to ride,
With the silent bush-boy alone by my side ;
When the ways of the world oppress the heart,
And sick of the present I turn to the past.

When the eye is suffused with regretful tears,
From the fond recollections of former years ;
And shadows of things that have long since fled
Flit over the brain like ghosts of the dead.

And my native laud, whose magical name,
Thrills through the heart like electric flame ;
The home of my childhood, the haunt of my prime —
All the passions and scenes of these rapturous tunes.

Bright visions of glory that vanish too soon,
Day dreams that departed ere manhood's noon ;
Attachments by fate or falsehood reft,
And early companions either lost or left.

When my feelings were young and the world was new,
Like fresh flowers of Eden unfolding to view ;
All, all is departed, forgotten forgone,
And I, a lone exile, remembered by none.

My high aims abandoned, my good acts undone,

A -weary of all that is under the sun ;

With that sadness of heart which no stranger may scan,

I fly to the desert afar from man.

When the wild turmoil of this wearisome life,
With its scenes of oppression, corruption and strife ;
The proud man's frown and the poor man's fear.
The scoruer's laugh and the sufferer's tear.

When the ways of the world oppress my heart,
And I dread i'ts vanity, vileness and art ;
Ah ! then there is freedom, and joy, and pride,
Afar in the desert alone to ride.

Where nothing corrupting or foolish is heard,
But the wind's gentle zephyrs both near and far ;
Away, away in the wilderness vast,
Where the foot of the white man hath never past.

And there while the night winds round me sigh,
And the stars burn bright in midnight sky ;
As I sit apart on the desert stone,
Like Elijah at Horeb's cave alone.

63

AN GAIDHEAL AIR FUADAN.

*S e mo mhianii a bhi triall anns na coillteanan fas,
Le mo steud-each bras riomhach nach diobair an cas,
"N uair 'bhios amhghaireau geura 'toirt dheur o mo shiiil,
A's mi caoidh gu ro chraiteach na dh' f hag mi air chul.

A's a' sealltainn gu cianail — gach ial — a's gach balbh,
Ri caomh sgaili'ean tiamhaidh nam bliadhnaibh a dh' fhalbh;
A's ri taibhsean nan eolach (mo bhronN 's mo luchd gaoil,
'Chaidh le gaoith fhuair an reota mar ched chur fa sgaoil.

A's ri tir sin mo dhuchais — ath-iirachadh 's cli
Bheir a h-ainm anns gach uair theid a luaidh do mo chri—
'S ris an dachaidh 'san d' f has mi air airidh an f hraoich,
Far nach cluinnt' anu ach gairich nam ba a's nan laogh.

Sin na bruadaran neonach tha 'seoladh mu m' cheann
Mar a sheolas am fireun mu chirean nam beann —
Sin na cusbairean solais o 'n d' f hogradh mi tra
Mus an gann thainig m' oige gu tredir mheadhon-Ia.

'N sin bha m'inntinn glan maoth, a's bha 'n saoghal dhomh ur
Mar an t-aileadh an Eden a' seideadh feadh f hlur ;
Ach chaochail, o'n uair sin, 's cha truagh leis an tras' '
Gum bheil an Gaidheal air fuadan 'sna coillteanan fas.

Tha mo neart dol a dhith, tha mo chrP air toirt geill —
Tha mi saraichte sgith leis gach ni tha fo'n ghrein —
Tha mi claoidhte le truaighean nach smuaintich gu brath
Neach ach Gaidheal air fuadan 'sna coillteanan fas.

Ach 'n uair bhios gach gabhadh tha'm f asach nan deur
Le'n deuchainean crditeach 's le'n sarachadh geur —
'N uair bhios diomba nan triath, agus fiamhachd nam bochd,
(Gu minic mar tha iad) 'g am fhagail fo sprochd.

'Nuair bhios doighean an t-saoghail 'cur daorsa air m'f honn,
A's a dh'f hagas 'mhi-naomhachd a's 'f haoineis mi trom ;
'N sin nach mor am fuasgladh, an suaimhneas, 's an gras,
'Gheibh an Gaidheal air fuadan 'sna coillteanan fas.

'S an aite nach cluinn mi ni truaillidh no baoth,
Ach oiteag o thuath a's i luasgadh nan craobh ;
Fada cian anns an f hasach o aros nan slogh,
Far nach do thog an t-aireach riamh brithigh na cro.

Mu fheasgar tha'n iarmalt 'san iar air dhath 'n oir,
'N sin foillsichear an Re dhomh 's na reultan 'na coir ;
Ag inns' gu bheil trath dhomh bhi 'tursuinn fo bhruaich,
Mar bha 'm faidhe aig Horeb 'ua onar 's an uaimh.

64

A still small voice comes through the wild
Like a father consoling his fretful child ;
Which banisheth bitterness, wrath and fear,
Saying, " Man is distant, bat God is near/'

THE CUCKOO.*

Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove I

Thou messenger of spring !
Now heaven repairs thy rural seat,.

And woods thy welcome sing.

Soon aa the daisy decks the green,

Thy certain voice we hear :
Hast thou a star to guide thy path,

Or mark the rolling year ?

Delightful visitant ! with thee

I hail the time of flowers,
And hear the sound of music sweet

From birds among the bowers.

The school-boy wandering through the wood,

To pull the primrose gay,
With pleasure listens to thy voice,

And imitates thy lay.

* The following verses on the Cuckoo, said to have been com-
posed by a medical gentleman in the Highlands, appeared in the
28th No. of the " Mountain Visitor." The writer admits that
he had the Poem given above in his eye when he wrote, but de-
nies that what he gives is a translation. —

O ! failt' ort fein, a chubhag ghorm,

Le t'oran ceolmhor, milis ;
'S e seirm do bheoil sa' cheitein 6g

A thogadh brdn o m' chridhe.

'S ro bhinn learn t'fhuaim sa' mhaduinn cheit',

'S tu air barr geig 'san innis ;
*N am feasgar ciuin, aig bun nan stuc,

'N uair bhiodh an driuchd a' sileadh.

O ! innis c'&it' an robh do thriall,
'N uair bha na siantan fionn-f huar ;

65

'N sin laidhidh mi 'smuainteach' mu bhuaidh Fir mo-ghaoil,
A's cluinnidh mi ri h-uine " guth ciiiin agus caol,"
'^ -^h, " Duine tha cian uait, ach Dia a's a ghris
treig Gaidheal air fuadan 'sna coillteanan

radh,
Cha

A' CHUTHAG.

Failt' ort, eilthirich ghlais nam bruach,

Teachdair an earraich ait ;
Tha t'aitreabh-shamhraidh uile deas,

Tha choill' a' seinn duit failt'.

Cha luaithe thig an neoinein maoth,

Na thogas tus' am foun ;
'Bheil agadsa reul-iuil gu h-ard,

Gad threorachadh do'n f honn !

Leat fein a chuairteir aoibhnich ait,
Dh' f hailtichinn am nam blath ;

An t-am 'sam bi a' choisridh bhinn
A' seinn gu grinn gach trath.

Am balachan beag, 's e trusadh bhlath,

Gu h-ard air uchd nan torn,
Le aighear eisdidh e do ghuth

'S co-f hreagraidh e am fonn.

N'an robh thu M' thosd, gun chail, gun toirt,
An cos a' chnuic fo dhubhar ?

'S mor m' f harmad riut, a chubhag chaomh,
Cha dean thu bron a'd' shiubhal ;

Chionn tha do chulthaobh daonnan gorni,
'S do chridhe daonnan subhach.

'S ged theicheas tu roixnh 'n f huachd air am,

Gu faic do ghleann thu 'rifchisd ;
Ach 'nuair bheir mise ris mo chul

Cha bhi mo dhuil ri pilleadh.

O ! 's truagh nach b' uiraiun dhomh leat triall,

Air astar sgeith 'nar dithis ;
Le caismeachd bhinn 'toirt fios gach am

'Nuair bhiodh an samhradh 'tighinn.

66

What time the pea puts on the bloom
Thou fly'st thy vocal vale,

An annual guest in other lands,
Another spring to hail.

Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green,

Thy sky is ever clear ;
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,

No winter in thy year !

0 could I fly, I'd fly with thee !

We'd make, with joyful wing,
Our annual visit o'er the globe,

Companions of the spring.

THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE.

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
As his corse o'er the ramparts we hurried ;

Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot,
O'er the grave where our hero was buried.

We buried him darkly, at dead of night,

The sods with our bayonets turning,
By the struggling moonbeam's dusky light,

And our lanterns dimly burning.

No useless coffin enclosed his breast.

Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him ;
But he lay — like a warrior taking his rest —

With his martial cloak around him.

Few and short were the prayers we said,

And we spoke not a word "of sorrow :
But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead

And we bitterly thought of to-morrow.

We thought — as we hollow'd his narrow bed,

And smooth'd down his lonely pillow —
How the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head,

And we far away on the billow!

Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,
•1 o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ;

67

Fo bhlath 'n uair thig a' pheasair ghlas,

Fagaidh tu 'choill gu luath ;
Aoidheachd iarraidh tu an duthch'aibh cein

Chur failt air earrach nuadh.

Do choill-se ! eoin nam buadh tha gorm,

Do speur do ghnath tha blath,
Mulad cha 'n 'eil a chaoidh a'd' dhan,

No geamhradh aim a'd' thrath.

0 ! na'm bu leamsa sgiath an eoin,

Gu'n siubhlainn leat gach ait,
Air cheilidh feadh an t-saoghail mhoir,

Comhlan an earraich ait.

TORRADH SHIR IAIN MOORE.

Cha chualas fonn teise no bron air a' Mhur.

Mar thog sinn a chorp air ar guailuibh ;
Cha do loisgeadh urchair le saighdear m'an uir ;

Druma cha chualas a' bualadh.

Thiodhlaiceadh esan an uaigneas na h-oidhch',
Airm chatha a' cladhach na h-urach,

A' ghealach gu faun roi' neulaibh a' soills',
Leus soluis 'g ar seoladh gu tursach.

Cha robh feum aig an laoch air cist' a bhiodli buan,
No ollanachd anairt g'a chuairteach';

Ach laidh e mar ghaisgeach a' gabhail a shuain,
Le 'thrusgan cogaidh mu 'n cuairt air.

B' aithghearr. 's bu tearc an urauigh chaidh suas,

A's shil sinn na deoir gu samhach,
Ag amharc air creubh an trein a thug buaidh,

A's buairte mu theachd an la maireach.

Oir thug sinn fainear a' cladhach na h-uaigh,
'S mar bha sinn gu truagh 'ga dealbhadh,

Gu'n deanadh coigrich a saltairt le fuath, •
Agus sinu' air a' chuan a' seoladh.

Le tair air a spiorad gu'n deanadh an namh,
Air an uaigh so suidhe 'ga chaineadh ;

68

But nothing he'll reck, if they let him sleep on
In the grave where a Briton has laid him.

But half of oui- heavy task was done,

When the clock toll'd the hour for retiring,

And we heard by the distant and random gun,
That the foe was sullenly firing. —

Slowly and sadly we laid him down,
From the field of his fame fresh and gory !

We carved not a line, we raised npt a stone,
But we left him alone in his glory.

GLENARA.*

OH ! heard you yon pibroch sound sad in the gale,
Where a band cometh slowly with weeping and wail ?
'Tis the Chief of Glenara laments for his dear ;
And her sire and her people are call'd to her bier.

Glenara came first with the mourners and shroud ;
Her kinsmen they follow'd, but mourn'd not aloud ;
Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around ;
They march'd all in silence — they look'd to the ground.

In silence they reach'd over mountain and moor,
To a heath where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar,
" Now here let us place the gray-stone of her cairn —
Why speak ye no word ?" said Glenara the stern.

" And now tell me, I charge you, ye clan of my spouse,
Why fold ye your mantles, why cloud you your brows ?"
So spake the rude chieftain : — no answer is made,
But each mantle unfolding, a dagger display'd.

* Lady Elizabeth, youngest daughter of Archibald, Second
Earl of Argyle, was married to Lachlan Cattanach Maclean of
Duart. It is evident from what followed that their marriage was
not a happy one ; for Maclean, determined to get rid of his wife,
left her on a rock in the Sound of Mull to perish by the rising
tide. She was rescued, however, by a boat's crew who had heard
her piercing cries, and was conveyed in safety to Inverary Castle.
Tradition says that Maclean announced to the Argyle family his
sudden bereavement, and requested them to join in his grief ; and
was suffered to go through the solemnities of a mock funeral — that
he was met by his father-in-law and his men at the head of

69

Ach 's suarach sin dhasan a' gabhail a thaimh
Far an d' rinn a luchd-daimh a charadh.

Ghairmeadh air falbh sinn o obair a' bhroin,
A's cian mu'n robh crioch air an torradh,

Chuala einn toirm a' chogaidh 'teachd oirnn,
A'a gaoir iiau gunnacha mora.

Ach leig sinn e slos gu h-athaiseach ciuiu,

Mar thuit e an treiu a mhorachd,
Gun leachd-lighe r'a cheann, gun charn os a chionn,

Ach sinte le 'ghloir 'na onrachd.

GLEANNAORA.

O ! 'n cuala sibh nuallau na pioba sa' ghaoith ?
Tha'm bannal a' tighinn le tuire, 's le caoidh ;
Dh'eug nigheau Mhic Cailein, 's trom acaiu a chleibh,
Ag imeachd le 'ghillibh 'an eoinneamh a creubh.

Ghluais esan roi'n ghiulan, lachd-broin ah* gach taobh,
A chinueadh 'ga leantuhin, cha chualas an glaodh ;
Phaisg iad am breacain m'am broilleach gu teann,
Ghluais iad le h-ahnheal, gun smid as an ceann.

Ghluais iad gu tosdach roi' mhonadh an f hraoich,

Gu reidhlein an daraich bh'air crionadh le aois ;

•* Fo leachd-lighe na coinnich, 'an so cairibh mo luaidh —

iNach labhair mo ghillean ?" deu1 Gleannaora fo ghruaim.

"A luchd cinnidh mo cheile," ars' an Leathauach garg,
" C'arson tha gach maladh cho duaichnidh le fearg ?
A'bheil foill air a cleth fo bhreacain a daimh ? "
Thogadh na breacain, 's bha biodag 's gach laimh.

Glenara, where the comn was opened and Maclean disgraced for
his cruelty and treachery, and was instantly sacrificed by the
Campbells and thrown into the ready-made grave. The latter
part of this report is not correct, as Maclean was killed in Edin-
burgh, some years thereafter, by the brother of lady Elizabeth.
The best account we have seen of this wild and romantic affair
is written by Dr M'Leod of St. Columba, Glasgow, who also
translated this deservedly popular Poem. The account referred
to, along with the excellent translation, is given in the Gaelic
Messenger for August, 1829.

70

" I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud,5'
Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud,
" And empty that shroud and that coffin did seem. :
Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream !"

Oh ! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween ;
W hen the shroud was unclosed and no body was seen ;
When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn—
'Tvvas the youth that had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn :•

" I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief,
I dreamt that her lord was a barbarous chief ;
On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem :
Glenara ! Glenara ! now read me my dream !"

In dust low the traitor has knelt to the ground,
And the desert reveal'd where his lady was found :
From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne :
Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn !

THE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.

Ye mariners of England !

Who guard our native seas,
Whose flag has braved a thousand years

The battle and the breeze,
Your glorious standard launch again,

To match another foe !
And sweep through the deep

While the stormy tempests blow ;
While the battle rages long and loud,

And the stormy tempests blow.

The spirits of your fathers

Shall start from every wave !
For the deck it was their field of fame,

And ocean was their grave ;
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,

Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,

While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages long and loud,

And the stormy tempests blow.

-1

" Bhruadair mise m'au ribhinn, 's mu eislinn nam marbh,"
fihlaodh guth an f hir chinnidh gu tartarach searbh ;
" Bha chaisil-chro falamh, an t-anart gu'n chreubh,
'Mhic Cailein, 'Mhic Cailein, an aisling so leugh."

O ! chinn Mac'Illeathain gu glas-neulach fann,
'Nuair dh'fhosgladh a' chiste, an corp cha robh ann
'N sin ghlaodh am fear-cinnidh ni b'airde fo cholg.
Am tiath uasal thug gradh do Ealasaid oig.

" Chunuaic mis' ann am aisling ribhinn mo ghaoil,
"S an t-ainneart a f huair i 'an Duairt a' chaoil ;
Air carraig a' chuain 's ann a chuala mi h-eigh :
Mhic Cailein, Mhic Cailein, an aisling so leugh."

Thuit an cealgair le geilt air a ghluinibh 's an iiir,
A*s dh'aidich e'n t-aite 'n robh 'n t-ailleagan ur ;
O charraig a' chuain thugadh ainnir nam buadh,
'S bha chuirm air a carainh an aros nan stuadh.

MARAICHEAN NA H-ALBA.

A mharaichean na h-Alba,

A dh' f halbhadh leinn le gairrn,
Fo'r brataich riabh bu dileas,

A sheas ri strigh 's ri stoirm ;
Le srol a' srannraich 'mach o thir,

'Chur naimhdean sios le buaidh,
Agus siubhlaibh thar nan sugh

'Nuair is gailbhich' smuid a' chuain,
'S is fuaimneach, fada toirm a' chath',

'S is gailbhich' smuid a' chuain.

Gu 'n eirich riochd nan treun-f hear

Mar eibhlean o gach tonn !
0 'n uaighibh uaine sail',

Air 'm bu bhlar dhoibh clair nan long ;
'S far 'n deachaidh Nelson treun do'r dith,

Gu'n las gach cridh' gu'r gruaidh,
'Dol gu siubhlach thar nan sugh,

'Nuair is gailbhich' smuid a' chuain ;
'S is fuaimneach, fada toirm a' chath',

'S is gailbhich' smuid a1 chuain.

72

Britannia needs no bulwarks,

No towers along the steep ;
Her march is o'er the mountain-waves,

Her home is on the deep :
With thunders from her native oak,

She quells the floods below,
As they roar on the shore,

When the stormy tempests blow ;
When the battle rages long and loud,

And the stormy tempests blow.

The meteor -flag of England

Shall yet terrific burn,
Till danger's troubled night depart,

And the star of peace return ;
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors !

Our song and feast shall flow
To the fame of your name,

When the storm has ceased to blow ;
When the fiery fight is heard no more,

And the storm has ceased to blow.

ADAM AND EVE.

There dwelt no joy in Eden's rosy bower,
Till Hymen broug'ht his love-delighted hour!
In vain the viewless seraph lingering there, '
At starry midnight charm'd the silent air ;
In vain the wild-bird caroll'd on the steep.
To hail the Bun slow wheeling from the deep ;
In vain, to sooth the solitary shade,
Aerial notes in mingling measure play'd ;
The summer wind that shook the spangled tree.
The whispering wave, the murmur of the bee ; —
Still slowly passed the melancholy day,
And still the stranger wist not where to stray.
The world was sad I — the garden was a wild !
And man, the hermit, sigh'd — till woman smiled !

73

Oha 'n fheum ar duthaich daiugnich",

'S tur-chaisteil clirann m'a traigh,
'S ur siubhal-s' air na sleibhtibh cuain,

'S ur dachaidh buan air Bail'.
Le tairneanach o'r darach cruaidh,

Theid tuinn a chlaoidh gu suain,
'S iad a' ranaich gu traigh,

'Nuair is gairbhe gairich cuain ;
'S is fuairaneach, fada toirm a' chath',

'S is gairbhe gairich cuain.

A' bhratach bhuadhar, Bhreatunnach,

Gu'n leum *s gu'n las r'a crann,
Gus 'dean uainn' oidhche 'chruadail trial!,

'S reul-sith' gu fir nam beann.
Bidh sin, a ghaisgeach' fairge !

Ar ceol 's ar cuirm le 'r buaidh,
'S fuaim ar ciuil bidh mu'r cliu,

'Nuair dh' fhasas ciuin' air cuan ;
'S gun tuillidh toirm no teine cath',

Gun strigh gun stoirm air cuan.

ADHAMH AGUS EUBH.

Bu mhaiseach Eden le 'chuid gheug a's chrann,

Ach 's beag do dh' aighear 'f huair ar n-athair ann ;

Bu diomhain do na h-aingil mhaith bhi 'n duil

Gun cuireadh iad air aiteas le 'n cruit-chiuil ;

Bu diomhain do na h-eoin, air ob 's air gheig,

Bhi 'cur ri ceol san f heasgar bhoidheach cheit ;

Bu diomhain do 'n t-sruth mhor bhi 'cronaich dha,

'S ,lo bheachain bhreac bhi 'srannraich 'measg nam blath

Oha robh nan ceol ach gloramas gun bhl;*

Cha robh an Garaclh ach mar f luisach ghlas ;

Bha Adhamh coir na onaran fo ghruaim

Gus an d' f huair e Eubh, a' bhean a b' eibhinn snuadiu

74

THE EXILE OF ERIK*

There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin,

The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill ;
For his country he sighed, when at twilight repairing

To wander alone by the wind beaten hill :
But the day-star attracted his eye's sad devotion,
For it rose o'er his own native isle of the ocean,
Where once in the fire of his youthful emotion,
He sang the bold anthem of Erin go bragh.

Sad is my fate, said the heart-broken stranger ;
The wild deer and wolf to a covert may flee ;

* T. Campbell, in his autobiographical notes, written in 1837.,
refers to the above Poem in the following words : — " While tarry-
ing at Hamburgh, in the year 1800, I made acquaintance with
some of the Irish refugees, who had been concerned in the rebel-
lion of 1798. Among these was one Anthony M'Cann, an honest,
excellent man who is still alive and in prosperous circumstances
at Altona. When I first knew him he was in a situation much
the reverse ; but Anthony commanded respect whether rich or poor.
Jt was in consequence of meeting him one evening on the banks of
the Elbe, lonely and pensive at the thought of his situation, that T
\\rote ' The Exile of Erin.7 " There were others also resident there
with whom Campbell felt deep sympathy, and this awakened the
strings of his lyre and induced this touching effusion, which was
in a few days set to music and sung by the exiles themselves. The
celebrated Tom Moore, designated by the Irish " FLATH NAM FILI,"
often said, that he would rather than fourteen of his best pieces
that he had been the author of this Poem. Another Irish Poet,
Mr James M'Henry, wrote " The Exile's Return," and although
we cannot at present accompany it with a translation, we hope to
be able to do so in a subsequent edition. Its insertion here will
help to cheer the reader after perusing the foregoing. —

O'er the hills of Slieve Gallen, as homeward he wandered,

The Exile of Erin oft paused with delight;
To dear recollections his soul he surrendered,

As each well known object returned to his sight:
Here was the brook oft he leaped so light-hearted,
Here was the bower where with love he first smarted,
And here was the old oak where, when he departed,

He carved his last farewell — 'twas Erin go bragh.

His heart wild was beating, when softly assailed him
The sound of a harp — Oh ! he listened with joy!

His quickening emotions, his visage revealed them,
And the lire of his eountry beamed strong from his eye

A sweet female voice soon the loved strains attended —

'Twas dear to his fond soul that o'er it suspended,

75

FOGARRACH EIRINX.

Gu cladach a' chuain thainig fuadanach Eirinii,

'S an driuchd air a thrusgan luidh trom agus fuar
'3 i 'n duthaich rinn 'ilrach 'dhuisg pramhan a chleibhe,

'Na aonar fo shiontan a' faontra mu'n cuairt ;
Ach air reula na maidue ghrad bheachdaich a shuilean,
'S i 'g eiridh a suas os ceann cuain m'a thir dhiithchais,
Far am b'ubhaist da 6g fonn 'drain a dhusgadh,
A' seinu gu h-ait, eutrom, dain Eirinu gu. brach !

O ! 's truagh tha mo chor, ars' an coigreach 's e cr&iteach,
Gheibh feidh 's madaidh-allt' aite fasgach gu tamh ;

With each note the spirits of feeling ascended,
Sung soft to the accents of Erin go bragh.

" I once had a lover," thus ran the sweet numbers,

" Now doomed far from me and his country to mourn ;
Perhaps in the cold bed of death e'en he slumbers—

Ah! my soul canst thou think he shall ever return ?
Yes, he shall— for he lives, and his past woes redressing,
His country shall claim him with smiles and caressing,
And, lockeol in my arms, he '11 pronounce her his blessing —
That country which wronged him, his Erin go bragh.

''Asa lamb he was meek, as a dove he was tender,
And formed was his bosom for friendship and love ;

But called by his country, still swift to defend her,
Undaunted, and tierce as the eagle he 'd move.

That ardour of passion for me that he pleaded,

By what female heart could it have been unheeded?

The love of his country alone could exceed it,
For still his first wish was for Erin go bragh !

" This Harp on whose strings oft he roused each emotion,

rnrivalled the soft tones of feeling to draw,
He left me— the pledge of his heart's true devotion,

And bade me oft strike it to Erin go bragh !
Oft I *ve dreamed that on it, as he sat in this bower,
He touched the sad tale of his exile with power ;
Each soul-glowing patriot the strain did devour,

Struck full to the magic of Erin go bragh.

" But cease, ye vain dreams ! for at morn still I lose him ;

And cease, my false hopes ! for my griefs must remain " —
•' No, they must not," he cried — and he rushed to her bosom —

Your Exile 's returned to his Erin again !
Now fallen the oppressors that sought to destroy me,
Love, friendship, and Erin shall henceforth employ me."
•; Tis himself! " she exclaimed : " Oh ye powers ! ye o'erjoy me!

Then blest be my country, blest Erin go bragh! "

76

But I havo no refuge from famine and danger,
A home and a country remain not for me.

Never again, in the green sunny bowers,

Where my forefathers lived, shall I spend the sweet hours,.

Or cover my harp with the wild woven flowers
And strike to the numbers of Erin go bragh.

O Erin my country ! though sad and forsaken,

In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore ;
But alas ! in a far distant land I awaken,

And sigh for the friends who can meet me no more !
Oh cruel fate ! wilt thou never replace mo
In a mansion of peace, where no perils can chace me ?
Never again shall my brothers embrace me ?

They died to defend me, or lived to deplore !

Where is my cabin door, fast by the wild wood ?

Sisters and sire ! did you weep for its fall ?
Where is my mother that tended my childhood ?

And where is my bosom friend, dearer than all ^
Oh my sad heart ! long abandoned by pleasure,
Why did you dote on a fast fading treasure ?
Tears, like the raindrop, may fall without measure,

But rapture and beauty they cannot recal .

Yet all its sad recollections suppressing,
One dying wish my fond bosom can draw ;

Erin ! an exile bequeaths thee his blessing !
Land of my forefathers ! Erin go bragh !

Buried and cold, when my heart stills its motion,

Green be thy fields, — sweetest isle of the ocean !

And thy harp-striking Bards sing aloud with devotion
Erin mavournin — Erin go bragh \

BRUCE'S ADDRESS.*

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled.
Scots, wham Bruce lias aften led ;
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to victory !

* In the year 1314 Edward II. invaded Scotland with an army
of 100,000 men. King Robert Bruce met him at Bannockburn,
near Stirling, with only 40,000 Scots. The above Address is

77

Ach dhomhs' cha'n 'eil tearmunn o ghort a's o ghabhadh,

Dachaidh a's duthaich, mo chul riu gu brach.
Gu brach ann an taice nam badan gorm, bl&thu,
Far 'u do thuinnich mo shinnscar cha chaith mi mo laithean,
Le fiadh-lusan bbidheach cha chomhdaich mo chlarsach,
'S cha shoinn mi o 'teudan ceol Eirinn gu brach !

Eiriim, mo dhuthaich ! ged 's tursach fo thar mi,
A'm aisling a ghnath tha mi 'taladh a' d' choir ;

Ach 'n uair dhuisgeas gu moch an tir choimhich a ta mi,
A' caoidh nan caomh chairdean nach faic mi ni's mo.

O ! 's cruaidh an cas gun bhi 'n ait' air mo charadh

Far am bithinn fo dhidein — an sith o gach gabhadh !

A chaoidh cha chuir failte le gradh orm mo bbraithrean,
Ga m' dhion cuid fhuair bas, 's na tha lathair ga m' bhron.

C'a' bheil mo bhothan, am fochar nan coilltean ?

Ghuil m' athair 's mo phiuthar 'n uair thuit e gu lar ;
C';V bheil mo mhathair a dh'iraich mi'm naoidheaii ?

A's c'a' bheil mo cheud-ghradh a's m' f heudail thar cliiiich ?
O ! m' anam bronach, rinn solas do dhiobairt,
Com' an d' chuir thu uigh ann an duiltha neo-bhri'or ?
Ged shileas mo dheoir uam mar dhortadh na dile,

Cha phill muirn a's mais' air an ais leo o'n bhas.

Ged tha cui'neachadh m' abhaist an tras 'toirt mo chli uam,
Aon athchuinge bais a'm uchd pramhail ni tamh ;

Eirinn, mo bheannachd biodh agad mar dhileab,
Fhearainn mo shinnsearaibh, Slan leat gu brach !

'Nuair bhios anns an uaigh mo chri' fuar 'se gun ghluasad,

O ! innis na mara biodh do mhachraichean uaine ;

'S do bhaird le guth ard 'seinn le'n clarsaichean fuaimneach,
" Eirinn, mo mhumiein ! Eirinn gu brach !

BROSNACHADH BHRUCE.

'Threun' 'a trie le Wallace 'dh' f huiling creuclid !
'S fo Bhruce chaidh dan' gu ar nan euchd!
Nis iarraibh bas am blar nam beum,

Xo buaidh gu treun 's an strith !

supposed to have been spoken by Bruce to his army on the ap-
proach of the enemy. The English were defeated, an immense
slaughter followed, and Scotland was delivered from her invaders.

78

Now's the day, and now's the hour,
See the front of battle lour ;
See approach proud Edward's power,
Chains and slavery !

Wha will be a traitor-knave ?
Wha can fill a coward's grave ?
Wha so base as be a slave ?

Let him turn and flee !

Wha, for Scotland's king and law,
Freedom's sword would strongly draw,
Freeman stand or freeman fa',
Let him follow me !

By oppression's woes and pains,
By your sons in servile chains !
We will drain our dearest veins,

But they shall be free ! ;

Lay the proud usurper low !
Tyrants fall in every foe !
Liberty in every blow !

Let us do, or die !

LINE S
On the Death of Mrs William M'Kinnon Fort- Augustus

She is gone, she is gone, to the mansions of rest,

And the storm now is hushed in a cairn ;
She has tuned her sweet harp with the choirs of the blest,

In praises of God and the Lamb.

Yes! the wild winds are still, and the tempest is hushed.

And the voyager is safe on the shore ;
And the tears now are dry that had formerly gushed;

And she sighs and she sorrows no more.

She lived as a pilgrim, — she died in the faith,

Her heart and her home were above;
And no more shall she mourn o'er a body of death,

Or affections from Jesus that rove.

* We have seen verses very like the foregoing in an old volume
of Poems ; we are not, therefore, altogether satisfied, that the

79 '

So latha 'chruais — an uair tha la'ir !
Feuch feachd fo'n cruaidh air cluan an air!
A' teachd le'n uaill gu buaireas blair

A dheanamh thrdillean dhibh !

Co thig do'n strith neo-dhileas, claon ?
Co dh'iarradh uaigh ach cluan an raoin ?
Co striochdadh BIOS gu dibKdh, faoin

Air cul nan claon-f hear clith ?

Co 'n cas a righ, a riogh'chd, 's a reachd,
Bheir beum nan geur-lann treun an gleachd !
Gu buaidh a'm blar no bas 'na bheachd,
An gaisgeach leanadh mi.j

Air truaighe 's teinn, ar n-ainneirt chruaidh,
'S ar sliochd an sas nan traillibh truagh' ;
O'r cuislibh traight' air sgalh ar sluaigh,
Thig saorsa bhuan le sith !

Biodli uaibhrich sleuchdt' fo'r beuma bais ;
Fear-ainneirt dh'eug 'nuair gheilleas namh,
Tha saorsa f hein a'm beum 'ur lamh,

'Ar n-aghaidh — buaidh no bas san strith !

R A N N A N
Air Sas Sean Uilleam Mhic lonmhuinn an Cille-Chuimein.

O ! dh'f halbh i air imrich do chomhnuidh na fois,

Thainig fosadh air doinionn nan sian ;
'S <;u'n d1 ghleus is1 a clursach ri naorah-cheol nain flath,

"Slainn cliu do'n Ard-thriath a-s do'n Uan.

Seadh, shiochaidh an stoirm, agus thuirling am fiath,

"S tha'n taisdealach tearuint' air tir;
Gu'n do thiormaich na deoir a bha roimhe so 'sruth,

A's air osnaich a's gul thainig crioch.

B' eilthire a beatha; sa' chreidimh bha 'bus,

Bha 'cridhe 's a h-aros gu h-urd;
Cha ghearain i tuille a h-aigne 'bin fuar,

N'a colunn bhi buailteach do'n bhus.

English of these lines, were originally composed on the death of
.Mrs V, illiam M'Kinnon.

•80

Now far from this valley of sorrow and care,
She has joined with the glorified throng,

And inethinks from the seat of the seraphim there,
I hear the sweet notes of their song.

"Salvation, and glory, and wisdom, and might,

To Him who once died on the cross;
And riches, and honour, and power are his right

Who once bore dishonour and loss.

To him who so freely redeemed us with blood,

And washed us from every stain,
And now makes us Princes and Priests with our God,

Be glory forever, Amen."

Thus they sing, — (for the page of the volume divine

Thus far has developed their lays;)
Made like him in glory forever they shine,

And dwell with delight on his praise.

Then, weep not, ye children, and weep not ye friends,

Nor the husband to her was so dear;
The enjoyments of heaven will soon make amends,

For our partings and sufferings while here.

Full oft at the footstool of mercy we bowed,

Forgiveness and grace to implore,
With her who now slumbers at rest in her shroud,

Whom on earth we can met with no more.

And what though that form once so loved and so dear,

Must sleep for a while in the tomb;
Yet soon shall the glorious morning appear,

That shall raise it in glory to bloom.

In old Fort-Augustus her memory shall live,

In the hearts and affections of friends,
Although she has bade us a lasting farewell,

Her deeds shall forever remain.

THE MERCIES OF GOD.

" I will sing ot the mercies of the Lord for ever: with my mouth
will I make known thy faithfulness to all generations." —
PSALM Ixxxix. 1.

Thy mercy, my God, is the theme of my song,
The joy of my heart, and the boast of my tongue ;
Thy free grace alone, from the first to the last,
Hath won my affections, and bound my soul fast.

"Without thy sweet mercy I could not live here,
Sin soon would reduce me to utter despair ;

81

Fad as o ghleann iomagain, Js o churam, 's o bhron,

Tha i 'n coisir nan uaoinh ann an gloir ;
A's saoileaui, ;i ionad nan seraphim shuas,

Gu'n cluinn mi binn fhuaim an cuid ceoil.

" Biodh sluint', agus gloir, agus gliocas, a's neart,

Do'n Ti a fhuair bus air a1 chraun !
'Se saibhreas, a's urram, a's cumhachd a chcart,

.Mar eiric air tailceas a's cull.

Agus dhasan a dh' ionulaid gu saor sinn 'na f huil,

O gach lochd, o gach peacadh a's beud ;
'S a rinn sasairt a's righrean dhinue do Dhia,

Biodh gloir agus urram gach re."

'S ann mar so a tha 'n f hirinn a' cur dhuinn an ceili,

Mu ua naoimh a tha 'seinn air a ghradh,
A tha 'dealradh fa chomhair mar ghathau na greiu%

A's le tlachd 'deanamh sgeil air gu brach.

Na guileadh a ceile, a cairdean, n'a clann —

Cha'n aobhar dhuibh ann a bhi'caoidh;
Diolaidh solas nan neamhan an diobradh a bh' ann,

Gach mulad, gach deang, agus claoidh.

An achanaich cbmhladh gu trie chuir iad suas

Ag aslachadh trocair a's gras,
Leisan te tha'na suain anns an lion-aodach f huar,

JS nach f haic iad a snuadh gu la bhrath.

Ged 'dh' f heumas an cruth sin do 'n d' thug sibhse luaidh

Car seal anns an uaigh a bhi 'n tamh,
Gu grad thig a' mhaduinn 's am mosgail e suas

Sar oirdhearc a'm buaidh 's ann an aill'.

An seann Chille-Chuimein bidh cuimhne gu buan

Air caomhas 's air suairceas na mnu:
Ged'ghabh i 'cead buan dhinn, cha diobair a luaidh

Ann an inntinn an t-sluaigh 'thug dhi gradh.

TROCAIREAN DHE.

"Air trocairibh an Tighearna gu bnith seiunidh mi : o linn gu
linn Ibillsichidh mi t'f hirinn le m' bheul." — SALU Ixxxix. I.

'> i do throcair, lehobhah, th<i dhomh na bun-sgeil —
'Na h-aoibhneas do m' chridhe, 's ua h-uaill ann a'm' bheul
Do shaor-ghras a mhain o thoiseach gu crich,
Aii1 m' aigue thug buaidh, 's chuir mo chridhe fo chis.

Gun do throcairean mills, cha 'n f haodainn bhi beo,
Oir peacadh mi-rianail rinu m' f hagail gun trcoir •,

82

But through thy free goodness, my spirits revive,
And he that first made me, still keeps me alive.

The door of thy mercy stands open all day
To the poor and the needy who knock by the way
No sinner shall ever be empty sent back,
Who comes seeking mercy for Jesus's sake.

Thy mercy in Jesus exempts me from hell ;
Its glories I'll sing, and its wonders I'll tell :
'Twas Jesus my friend when he hung on the tree,
Who opened the channel of mercy for me.

THE HEAVENLY CANAAN.

Far from these narrow scenes ot night

Unbounded glories rise ;
And realms of infinite delight,

Unknown to mortal eyes.

Fair distant land ! could mortal eyes
But half its charms explore,

How would our spirits long to rise,
And dwell on earth no more.

There pain and sickness never come,
And grief no more complains ;

Health triumphs in immortal bloom,
And endless pleasure reigns.

No cloud those blissful regions know,

For ever bright and fair ;
For sin, the source of mortal woe,

Can never enter there.

There no alternate night is known,

Nor sun's faint sickly ray ;
But glory from the sacred throne,

Spreads everlasting day.

THE BIBLE.

WHAT is the world ? a wildering maze,
Where sin hath track'd ten thousand ways,
Her victims to ensnare ;

83

Ach trid do shaor-mhaitheas gu'n d' chum thu mi stias.
!S nn Ti sin a dhealbh mi gu'n toir e dhomh buaidh.

Tha dorus do throcair-se fosgailt gach la
Do'n bhochd a's do'n f heumach a bhuaileas gach tra :
Airus peacaich thruagh, f halamh, a losa ni buri,
Cha do chuir e uaith' falamh, 's am feasda cha chuir.

'S i do throcair an los' ni mo shaoradh o thruaigh' :
Air a ghloir bidh mi 'seinn, a's air 'ioghnadh ni luaidh
'S e losa in' f hear-tagraidh, chaidh a cheusadh a'm ait'
'S <• "n t-slighe, 'se 'n f hirinn, nach diobair gu b;

AN CANAAN NEAMHAIDH.

Fad as o shiantan dorch' an t-sao'il,
Tha gloir nach traoigh gu brath ;

A's ionad sona thar gach smaoin,
Xach leur do dhaoin* an traths'

Am fearann aluinn fada, cian,

Xa'n tuigte trian d'a agh,
Ghrad dhiiisgeadh ann ar n-anam miann

'Bhi 'n sin gu siorruidh 'n tamh.

Xi mo bhios tinneas ann no pein,
'S cha chluinnear eigh luchd-broin ;

Bidh slaint' a's oig' anu feadh gach re,
'S gach teang' air ghleus gu ceol.

Gu soilleir, dealrach feadh gach uair,
A' ghrian cha ghluais fo neul ;

Oir peacadh, slol gach uile thruaigh'
Cha d' teid a suas do neamh.

Cha bhi oidhch* ann feadh gach iall,
'S cha bhual a' ghrian 'san la ;

Oir gloir a' teachd o chathair Dhia,
'S e sin an grian gu brach.

AM BIOBULL.

CIOD e an saogh'l ach fasach mor ?
'S an d' dhealbh am peac' deich mile'rod,
A chur a chreich an sus ;

84

All broad, and winding, and aslope,
All tempting with perfidious hope —
All ending in despair.

Millions of pilgrims throng those roads.
Bearing their baubles, or their loads,

Down to eternal night:
One humble path that never bends —
Narrow, and rough, and steep, ascends

From darkness unto light.

Is there a guide to show that path ?
The Bible ; — he alone who hath

The Bible, need not stray ;
Yet he who hath and will not give
That heavenly guide to all that live,

Himself shall lose the way.

C. PSALM.*

All people that on earth do dwell,
Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice.
Him serve with mirth, his praise forth tell,
Come ye before him and rejoice.

Know that the Lord is God indeed ;
Without our aid he did us make;
We are his flock, he doth us feed,
And for his sheep he doth us take.

0 ! enter then his gates with praise,
Approach with joy his courts unto :
Praise, laud, and bless his name always,
For it is seemly so to do.

For why ? the Lord our God is good,
His mercy is forever sure ;
His truth at all times firmly stood,
And shall from age to age endure.

* In our Gaelic Psalms there is no long metre version of the
• '. J'siilm. The translation given on the opposite page is by the

85

lad uile leathann, lubach, claon,
A' gealltuinn solas do gach aon —
Ach uile 'stad sa' bhas.

Na roid sin tha do choigrich Ian,
'S gach aon a' giulan uallaich fein,

A sios do shlochd na caoidh :
Tha aon cheum foil, nach lub am feasd, —
Gu h-aimhlea'nn, doirbh a' direadh cas

0 dhorchadas gu soills'.

An t-slighe sin co leigeas ris ?
Am Biobull; — cha ruig aon a leas

Le 'Bhiobull dol o'n cheum ;
Ach es' aig am bheil 's nach toir seach 1
An neamh cheann-iuil so do gach neach,

Air seachran theid e fein.

C. SALM.

Gach slogh d' an comhnuidh 'n cruinne-ce
Togaibh gu leir ait-chliii do 'n Triath,
Ri gairdeachas 'n ar Cruithfhear treun,
Le 'r binn-chedl eireadh cliu do 'r Dia.

Dhuibh's fios gu'r h-esan Dia amhain,
0 'm bheil gach al — ar dealbh 's ar dec,
A threud sinn — 's biathaidh e gach trath,
'S ni dion a's arach dhuinn ri 'r beo.

Air dorsaibh 'arois doirtibh 'steach,
'Na chuirtibh ait', dha thigibh dluth,
'S guth molaidh 's gairdeachais gach neach
A' luaidh air feartaibh Dhe nan dul.

gu 'r mor 's gu 'r maith ar Dia,
Mu 'throcair chinntich 's maith bhi Jseinn ;
'S 'f hirinn a sheas gu daingean riabh,
Gu mair, feadh linntean siorruidh, leinn.

Rev Angus Macintyre, Kinlochspelvie, Mull. We would respect-
fully recommend its insertion in the next edition of the Psalms

86

HYPOCRISY.'

Thus says the prophet of the Turk,

" Good Mussulman ahstain from pork,

There is a part in every swine

No friend nor follower of mine

May taste, whate'er his inclination,

On pain of excommunication."

Such Mahomet's mysterious charge.

And thus he left the point at large.

Had he the sinful part express'd,

They might with safety eat the rest ;

But for one piece they thought it hard

From the whole hog to be debarr'd ;

And set their wit at work to find

What joint the prophet had in mind.

Much controversy straight arose ;

These choose the hack, the belly those ;

By some 'tis confidently said

He meant not to forbid the head ;

While others at that doctrine rail,

And piously prefer the tail.

Thus, conscience freed from every clog,

Mahometans eat up the hog.

You laugh — 'tis well — The tale applied

May make you laugh on t'other side.

"Renounce the world," the preacher cries,

"We do," a multitude replies.

While one as innocent regards

A snug and friendly game at cards :

And one, whatever you may say.

Can see no evil in a play ;

Some love a concert, or a race ;

And others shooting and the chase.

87

CEALGAIREACHD.

Mar so, deir faidhe mor na Tuirc'

" Tha earrann shonraichte do'n mhuic

'8 ma thach'ras e aig aoi air bith,

Gu'n ith fear leanmhuinn ormsa dh'i,

Sasuichte' na ocrach, 's aon chuid e,

lomsgarar e a mach a neamh."

Cha d' innis Mahomet mar so,

Am ball bha glan, n' ain ball nach robh ;

Na'm biodh e air deanarah sin,

Dh' itheadh iad a' chuid bha glan;

Ach air son earrainn', shaoil iad cruaidh

A' mhuc gu leir a bhacadh uath';

'S dh' f heuch iad gach doigh gu dheanamh 'mach,

Cia 'm ball bha aig an f haidh 'n a bheachd,

Do thoisich iad o sin a mach,

Ri connsach', strith, a's easonachd.

Roghnuich a' bhuidheann so an druim,

'S fearr leis a' bhuidheann ud a' bhroinn,

Cuid eile leis am fearr an ceann,

'Their nach 'eil cron na peacadh ann.

Dream eile (cairdean do na Bairde)

Tha 'g aicheadh so 's nach creid gu brach e,

Gu bheil 's an iorball lochd air bith

A's uime sin gu feud iad ith' —

Mar so, le coguis saor o shrian

Gun eagal roimh Fhaidhe na tiamh,

Tha na Mahometich gun sgath,

Ag itheadh suas na muic' gach trath.

A Chriosduidhean, tha^sibh ri gaire,

Ruibh fein, ma seadh, an sgeula cairibh,

'S feoraichibh do'r cridhe fein,

'M bheil sibhse a' deanamh mar an ceudn'?

".Treigibh an saoghal," dubhrar ruibh, —

*' Tha sinne a' deanamh sin," deir sibh —

'M feadh tha fear 'n ur measg am beachd

'An cluith air chairtean nach 'eil lochd ;

Fear eile thug do chleasachd toil,

Nach creid gu bheil innt' beud no cron ;

Fear leis an caonih bhi 'g eisdeachd ciiiil,

'S fear bhi falbh le gunn' a's cu,

88

Reviled and loved, renounced and followM
Thus, bit by bit, the world is swallow'd ;
Each thinks his neighbour makes too free,
Yet likes a slice as well as he ;
With sophistry their sauce they sweeten,
Till quite from tail to snout 'tis eaten.

HUMAN LIFE.

Like the fair rose in vernal pride,
Or like the never-slumbering tide,
Or like the blossom, fresh and gay,
Or like the early dawn of day ;
Or like the cloud 'midst tempest high,
That floats across the stormy sky, —
Even such is man, the heir of sorrow,
Alive to-day, and dead to-morrow !
The blushing rose soon fades away,
His course the ocean will not stay ;
The blossom fades, the tempest flies,
And man. the child of frailty, dies !

Or like a tale that soon is told,
Or like a meadow gemm'd with gold,
Or like a bird with plumage gay,
Or like the genial dews of May,
Or passing hour, or fleeting span,
Even such, in all his pride, is man !
The grass decays, the tale is ended,
The bird is flown, the dew 's ascended
The span is short, the hour is past,
And his long home man seeks at last !

Or like a bubble in the brook,
Or glass, in which vain man doth look,
Or shuttle sent from hand to hand,
Or letters written on the sand ;
Or like a thought, or like a dream,
Or like an ever-gliding stream, —
Even such is man, who soon will know
That all is vanity below !

89

Fear leis am fearr bin 'ruagadh feidh,
'S fear bhi 'ruith air seang-each reis.
Muc rahor an t-sao'il, tha iad mar so
Ag itheadh suaa gu leir gach 16,
Air nabuidh chuir gach fear diubh beum !
Acli 's toigh leis caob cho niaith ris fein.

BEATH' AN DUINE. ,

'S an earrach mar bhios ailleachd rois,
No mor shruth 'choidhch' nach gabhadh tamh,
'S mar bhlath bhios urail le deadh-mhais',
No camhanaich ro-mhoch an la :
No mar na neoil feadh doinionn ard,
'Tha 'snamh air falbh 'measg anraidh speur ;
Mar sud an duine, oighre broin !
An diugh tha beo, 's a maireach eug !
Na rosan, crionaidh sios gu luath,
'S cha chuir an cuan a rian 'na thamh ;
Theid doinionn seach' "s na blaithean fos,
'S gheibh duine, mac na breoiteachd, bas !

Mar sgeul a dh'innsear luath le beul,

No mlodar seudaichte le h-6r,

No mar ail t-eun le iteach iir,

No driichda mm a' cheitein oig ;

'S mar uair 'na ruith, no siubhal reis,

Mar sud tha neach gu leir le 'phrois !
Seargaidh 'm feur, tha 'n sgeula reith,
Tha'n t-eun air sgeith, tha 'n driichd 'a na neoil
Tha 'n reis ro-ghearr, tha'n uair 'nis seach,
'S a bhuan-theach iarraidh neach fa-dheoidh !

Mar bhuilgein sruth theid as gun dail,

No sgathan 's an dearc duine ba,

No mar an spal o laimh gu laimh,

No sgrlobhadh tarr'ngte slos air traigh ;

No mar am bruadar, no mar smuain,

No sruth 'bhios luath nach stad gu brach,

Ceart amhuil duine 'chi gu grad

Gur dlomhanas gach dad air lar !

90

Bubbles our wasting lives betoken,

The shuttle stops, the glass is broken ;

No letters traced on sand remain,

Our dreams are brief, our thoughts are vain ;

And like the streams that passes by,

Is man, who only lives to die !

Like Autumn's leaf, or like the snow,

Or like the journey man doth go ;

Or like the river's flow and ebb,

Or like the patient spider's web ;

Or like the fruit, or like the flower,

Or like the short-lived April shower ;

Even such is man who toils to gain

The chaff of the immortal grain !
The leaf decays, the snow is past,
The roughest journey ends at last ;
The web is torn, the shower is o'er,
The fruit delights the taste no more ;
The flower fades, the flood 's suspended,
Man's hour is corne and life is ended !

Or like an arrow through the air,
Or like the lightning's sudden glare,
Or like the vapour in the sky,
Or like the goal for which we try,
Or like the minstrel's pleasant song,
Which we, tho' vain, would fain prolong ;
Even such is life, with all its cares,
Fast floating down the tide of years !
The arrow soon to earth declines,
The lightning but a moment shines ;
He stops who doth most sweetly sing ;
The cloud is ever on the wing :
The race, tho' hard, will soon be o'er,
And living man be seen no more !

If every thing above, below,
Aloud doth mortal's frailty shew ;
If we, ere long, must take our flight
From the revolving day and night,
And our eternal portion be
In realms of joy or misery : —

91

Tha sruth ar beatha seach gun dail,
Tha 'n sgathan briste, stad an spal ;
Cha'n f haighear sgrlobhadh air an traigh,
Tha'n aisling gearr, 's na smuaintean ba ;
Mar shruth 'theid seach le luasgan raor
Tha 'n duine beo air son dol bas.

Mar dhuilleig f hoghair', no mar shneachd,

No turas neach gu crloch a sgeoil ;

Mar shruth nan allt 'theid slos 's a nios,

'S mar lion an damhain-allaidh fhoil ;

No mar bhiodh meas, no fos am blath,

No frasan gearr a thig 's a' mhart,

Mar sud tha neach a bhios ri spairn

Gu ni gun tabhachd bhi 'na laimh !

Tha 'n duilleag crlon, 's an sneachd air falbh,
'S tha 'n ceum is gairge seach fa-dheoidh ;
Tha 'n fhras an cein, a's shrachd an lion,
'S tha 'meas gun bhrigh do'n bhlas ni's rno ;
Tha blaithibh seargta, sguir an tuil,
So uair an duine, chaill e'n deo !

Mar shaighde 'falbh san iarmailt chein,
N'an dealan treun is clise fiamh,
No mar an deatach 'thig o'n speur,
N'an reis air son am feuch sinn dian,
No 6ran binn a sheinneas bard,
'S ar miann gu ba gu'm biodh e buan ;
Mar sud tha beath* le mile cradh
Mar shruth gu traigh a' ruith gu luath !
Grad thig an t-saighead churn an lair,
Cha dealraich dealau ach car trath ;
Theid fear nan oran binn na thamh,
Bidh neoil gach la air sgeith nan ard ;
Ge' cruaidh an reis theid as d'i fos,
'S cha'n f haicear duine bed ni's mo !

Mu nochdas nithe speur a's lair,

Ar breoiteachd bhasmhor le ard ^igh ;

Mu dh'f heumas sinne triall gun dail,

O'n la 's o'n oidhch' tha 'ruith a cheil' ;

'S ar cuibhrionn siorruidh 'bhi 'san rioghachd

'S am faighear sith no bron gach re : —

92

Let us no more in trifles spend
The life which must so shortly end ;
But whilst the sun salutes our eyes,
To righteousness and God arise.
Let each who has a soul to save,
Extend his views beyonds the grave ;
And while salvation still is nigh,
To Christ, the friend of sinners fly.
So, when this fleeting state is o'er,
And time with us shall be no more ;
When e'en the elements around
Shall in consuming flames be found,
Upheld by faith, we will not fear,
For our redemption draweth near.

[This Poem is transcribed from the Landsdowne MSS. British
Museum, Parliamentary Collections, 498. It was composed
about the beginning of the Seventeenth Century ; but the
Author is not known. This version of it is considerably re-
vised and modernized, as many of the terms used in the ori-
ginal are now obsolete.]

EXTRACT
FROM MILTON'S PARADISE LOST.

OF Man's first disobedience, and the fruit

Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste

Brought death into the world, and all our woe,

With loss of Eden, till one greater Man

Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,

Sing heavenly muse, that on the secret top

Of Horeb, or of Sinai didst inspire

That shepherd, who first taught the chosen seed,

In the beginning how the heaven and earth

Rose out of chaos : or if Sion hill

Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flowed

Fast by the oracle of God ; I thence

Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song,

That with no middle flight intends to soar

Above the Aoniau mount, while it pursues

Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.

And chiefly Thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer

Before all lemples the upright heart and pure,

Instruct me, for thou knowest ; Thou from the first

93

Na caitheamaid air ni gun fheum
A' bheatha 'dh'fheumas sgur do thriall,
Ach f had 's a clil do shuil a' ghrian
Thig dliith air fireantachd 's air Dia.
Gach anam leis am miann bhi saor
Biodh aignean an taobh thall do'n uaigh ;
'S am feadh 'tha slainte dhuit-se dluth
Ri Caraid pheacach dluthaich luath.
A chum, 'n uair bhios an staid so seach,
'S nach f hagar tiom aig neach ni's mo,
'S a bhios na duilean foa mu'n cuairt
Air chall 'n an gual 's an lasair bhed,
Gun cum neart creidimh geilt fad uain',
'Chionn la ar fuasgladh dliith gu leoir !

AM FOGRADH A PARAS.

Mu chiad chiont' Adhaimh a choisinn cradh d'a shliochd,
'S mu mheas na craoibhe toirmisgt' thug oirnii sgrios
Chum bais, le 'bhlas, 's a' chruitheachd lion le bron
'N uair chaill sinn Eden, gus am buannaichd Neach
Is trein', as ur ar coir air Paras neamh,
Seinn thus' a Spioraid neamhaidh, 'las le h-eud
Air mullach Horeib, no air beinn Shinai
Geur bheachd a' chiobair sin, a nochd an tus
Do 'n chinneadh thaghte, mar a dh' eirich neamh.
A's talamh suas o'n aibheis ; no ma b' f hearr
Leat tdmh an cluain sliabh iir, aluinn Sluoin ;
No sruth Shiloa 'ruith gu siubhlach 'sios
Am fochar tagh-ghairm Dhe ; a's conar leat
Mo'dhan le d' neart, 's e 'n tith air gniomh nach faoin —
Cha'n ann am meadhon cursa gorm nan speur,
Tha gheah* air triall os cionn Pharnasuis ami,
'N^tra thogar fonn leis, mar nach cualas riamh
Bho shnas-chainnt seanachaidh, no o bhinu-ghloir biiird.
Ach thus', 0 ! Spioraid, 'g am bheil barrachd tlachd
'S a' chridhe ghlan n'an teampull 'tha fo'n ghrein,
0 ! teagasg m' anam ; dhuit is aithne 'chuis,
Oir shuidh thu'n tus, le d' sgiathuibh sgaoilte 'much
Mu'u aigeal ihas, 'nuair chiun e torrach, trom :
Cuir soils' a'm inntinn, 's neartaich gleus mo thuir
A chum 'sgu'n labhrainn suas lo oomhaohd diau,
A' nochdadh freasdal siorruitlh aims gach ni.
Sa dh'fhirinneachadh slighe Dhc do'n t-sluagh.

94

Wast present, and with mighty wings outspread
Dove-like satest brooding on the dark abyss,
And madest it pregnant ; what in me is dark
Illumine, what is low raise and support ;
That to the height of this great argument
I may assert eternal providence,
And justify the ways of God to men.

Say first, for heaven hides nothing from thy view,
Nor the deep tract of hell, say first what cause
Moved our grand parents, in that happy state,
Favoured by heaven so highly to fall off
From their Creator, and transgress his will
For one restraint, lords of the world besides ?
The infernal serpent ; he it was whose guile,
Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived
The mother of mankind, what time his pride
Had cast him out from heaven, with all his host
Of rebel angels, by whose aid aspiring
To set himself in glory 'bove his peers,
He trusted to have equalled the most High,
If he opposed ; and with ambitious aim
Against the throne and monarchy of God
Raised impious war in heaven and battle proud
With vain attempt. Him the Almighty Power
Turned headlong flaming from the ethereal sky,
With hideous ruin and combustion, down
To bottomless perdition, there to dwell
In adamantine chains and penal fire,
Who durst defy the Omnipotent to arms.
Nine times the space that measures day and night
To mortal men, he with his horrid crew
Lay vanquished, rolling in the fiery gulf,
Confounded though immortal : but his doom
Reserved him to more wrath ; for now the thought,
Both of lost happiness and lasting pain,
Torments him ; round he throws his baleful eyes,
That witnessed huge affliction and dismay,
Mixed with obdurate pride and stedfast hate :
At once, as far as angels ken, he views
The dismal situation waste and wild ;
A dungeon horrible on all sides round
As one great furnace flamed, yet from those flames
No light, but rather darkness visible
Served only to discover sights of woe,
Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace
And rest can never dwell, hope never comes
That comes to all ; but torture without end
Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed

95

Leig ris air tiis, oir 'sleur dod' shuil o neamh
Gu aigein dorch' an t-sluiclul, leig ris am fath
A ghluais ar sinnsearra 'n an staid gun lochd
Gu'n cul a thoirt ri Dia, 's a high a bhrist',
Ged bha gach ni 'iiau seilbh ach ami a mhain ?
An nathair ifrinneach, 'se laist le tnu,
Le diogh'ltas agus ceilg, 'se 'mheall a' bhean,
A chionn gu'n d'fhua'd'aicheadh ;i neamh e 'mach
Arson a ghiulain chealgaich, uaibhrich, bhuirb,
Le 'bhuidhinn cheannaircioh de dh'Ainglibh truagh,
Le'n conadh b' aill leis eiridh suas thar chaich,
' S tigh'mi gu bhi ionann ann an cliu 's an gloir,
Le streup, ri moralachd an Ti 's fior aird' ;
An duil gu'n rachadh aig' air gleachd, Je buaidh,
An aghaidh uachdranachd a's morachd Dhe,
'S ann thug e ionnauidh dhana, choirbte, chlith,
Air comhstri 'dhusgadh ann an rioghachd neamh;
Ach thilg an t-Uile chumhachdach e 'mach
Bho'n speur mar dhealanach, 'na lasair dheirg,
Gu leir-sgrios siorruidh sios do'n t-slochd gun ghrunnd,
A gliabhail taimh 'an geimhleibh cruadhach, glaist'
'S an teine lasrach, loisgeach, phiantach, dhian,
A chionn gu'n d' dhulauaich gu comhrag arm
E 'n t-Uile-chomasach. ISTaoi laithean cian,
'S cho lion'ar oidhch', mar thoimhsear tiom nam beo,
Thug e le 'sgiobadh sgreataidh, air an claoidh,
'S a' cur nan car dhiubh 'n dubhaigein a' bhroin,
'Am breislich chraitich, 'snach tig bas g'a choir :
Oir dhit am Freasdal e gu barrachd ieirg'.
Tha chridh' 'g a spionadh as le smaointibh trom
Mu'n agh a chaill e, 'sgeilt roimh pheiu ri teachd.
Bho 'shuilean guineach dh'amhairc e mu'n cuairt
Le sealladh uaibhreach 's an robh goimh a's grain ;
'S nach fa«' ach sgrios anacuibhseach, oillt, a's fiamh.
( 'h<> fad' 'sa thuradh Aingeal chunnacas leis
Gu grad an t-ionad iargalt, fiadhaich, las —
Mor phriosan uamhasach, bho thaobh gu taobh
'N a lasraichibh, mar fhuirneis bhaoth 'nan cair ;
A's as na Insraichean cha'n f haicte soills',
Acli dorcha fbillseach aims an gann bu leur
(iarh soalladh eitidh bha r'a fhaicinn ami,

ailtibh muladach 's air raontaibh broin,
Far nach dean sith no solas comhnuidh 'chaoidh,
'S nach taoghail dochas 'thig a chuir gach iicach,
Ach doruimi bhuan gun chrioch. a ghreasar dian
Le tuiltibh teinteacli 'bruchdadh as gach laimh
De phroimusg lasrach, dian-loisgoacii nach caith.
Rinu Ceartas bith-bhuautach an t-ait ud deas

96

With ever-burning sulphur unconsumed ;

Such place eternal Justice had prepared

For those rebellious, here their prison ordained

In utter darkness, and their portion set

As far removed from God and light of heaven

As from the centre thrice to the utmost pole.

O how unlike the place from whence he fell !

There the companions of his fall, o'erwhelmed

With floods and whirlwinds of tempestuous fire,

He soon discerns, and weltering by his side

One next himself in power, and next in crime,

Long after known in Palestine, and named

Beelzebub. To whom the Arch-enemy,

And thence in heaven called Satan, with bold words

Breaking the horrid silence thus began. —

BABYLON.

The pilgrim stands on famed Chaldea's plain,

The immortal field of Glory's ancient reign :

Hillah's small town is looming far away,

And o'er the desert dies the golden day.

What meets the eye ? no stately waving trees,

No sweet-lipped flowers that scent the passing breeze ;

Stern Desolation here hath reared her throne,

And darkly calls this fated land her own.

Vast mounds sweep 'round us, clothed with stunted grass,

Or strewn with shattered urns and rings of brass ;

And on and on they wind, and cross, and meet,

Wrecks of fall'n towers, and many a gorgeous street.

But who shall say, whore dwelt in former age,

The high or low, the warrior, prince, or sage ?

Wild asses browse where stood the Ninian gate,

The lizard crawls where monarch's moved in state.

In Beauty's rosy garden wormwood springs ;

Where cooed Love's ring-doves, vulture flap their wings.

To trace the walls' vast round skill vainly tries ;

And o'er each shapeless ruin History sighs ;

Man's last poor pride, the very tombs, are gone : —

And this was famed, earth-conquering, Babylon !

97

Arson nan ceannairceach, 'g an glasadh suas

A'm builsgein dorchadais, 's an crannchur leag

Cho fad' air falbh bho Dhia 's bho sholus neamh

"Thri fad' 's tha'n cruinne-ce bho cheann gu ceann.

O ! bu neo-choltach ris an ionad aigh

Bho'n d' f hogradh iad an t-ait' an d'rinn iad stad ;

Mu'n cuairt bha'n comunn a rinn tuiteam leis

"N an sleibhtrich, air an claoidh le cathadh garbh

De dh'eilibh bed, le conf hadh stoirm 'g a chur :

Bha fear 'g a aoimeagan air lar r'a thaobh,

An t-aon bu tin' air ann an olc 's an neart

Thuair urram mor a ris an tir Chankan,

'S e Beelsebub dha' b' ainm ; ris le briathraibh ard,

Bbo shamhchair uamhraidh, labhair an t-Ard namh,

D'am b'ainm 'na dheigh sin Satan ann an neamh.

BABILON.

An sud bha Bab'lon mor nan comhnard reidh,

Blar-iomairt greadhnachais nan linn o chein ;

Tha baile Hilah 'snamh fad as, 's a' ched,

'S air gnuis an fhasaich crioch an Id mar or.

Ach c'dit' am bheil na craobhan arda, trom,

A's boltrach ciibhraidh, tiath, mhaoth-bhlath nan torn.

An so gach ni chuir Ikmh a' mhilteu- fks,

A's 'ainm tha sgriobht' air gnuis na tir 's gach ait'.

Mu'n cuairt gach taobh tha druimnean lorn gun sgeimh

Ach bruachan sgapt' le sgealban phoitean ere.

Tha talla 'chiuil, 's an luchairt, ghreadhnach, Ard

An so nan smur, gun smid an tosd a' bhais :

A's co ni fheuchainn c'a'n do thamh an righ,

Am baoth-fhear Ikn, an draoidh, no'm bochd gun ni.

Tha comlmuidh 'n f hiadh-bhea'ich far an d' iadh na sloigh

'S tha 'nathair chiar an tigh nan diathau oir.

Thug blaithean cubhraidh 'n jiit' do luibhean searbh,

'* an colman theich roimh' sgread nam feithid' garg :

A dion bhal' drd cha lorgaich lamh ni's mo,

'S tha thar gach larach 'eachdraidh 'tamh fo bhron,

A h-uaighean fein rinn fas 'n am blarain lorn,

'S b'e so bail' uaibhreach, ainmeil Bhibiloin.

98

LAMENTATION OF DAVID
Over Saul and Jonathan. — ii. Samuel, i. 19 — 2J. *

I weep, for the glory of Israel is faded,

Her power and her beauty in silence repose ;

And hills, which the mantle of peace long has shaded,

Now echo the tread, and the triumph of foes.

And how are thy mighty now fallen 0 Judah !

The hater of Jacob exulteth afar ;

Yes ! peals the glad note, to the downfal of Judah, —

He laughs o'er the havoc, the writhings of war.

Philistia's daughter, her idols adoring,

May boast that the power of Jehovah is gone ;

Yet, Judah can sing, while her eye is deploring,

The God of my fathers, i '11 worship alone.

Proud hills of my country! Gilboa! O never

Shall dew-drop of morning thy green slopes adorn ;

Thy verdure is faded, and sterile for ever

Shall be the rich fields of the victim forlorn.

For there was the shield of the mighty averted, —

The oil of anointing seemed pour'd forth in vain ;

And feeble his arm, his standard deserted,

The monarch, all childless, reclines with the slain.

Yes ! changed is the time, nor eagle's broad pinion

Could swifter shoot forth from his eyrie on high ;

Nor lion, proud prince of a desert dominion,

With Judah's lost princes, in prowess could vie.

The star of the mighty, beneath the dark ocean

Is sunk to repose, but its vivid light shone ;

And the ray of its waning rekindles emotion,

Through life undivided, in death they are one.

Weep daughters of Israel ! the pride of your nation,

Whose splendour bespangled these garments so gay ;

Recal the lost object of fond admiration,

O ! pensively weep o'er his mouldering clay.

And why are they perished ! while garlands were weaving

For brows that are steeped in oblivion's wave ;

Lost pride of my heart ! were that bosom still heaving,

But no — 'tis the leaden embrace of the grave.

Dr Kitto justly remarks, that the Lamentation of David over
and Jonathan is introduced by a strange parenthesis: "And
])avid lamented with this lamentation over Saul and over Jonath
an his son : (also he bade them teach the children of Judah tin: «.»
<>f the bow : behold, it is written in the book of Jasher.)" The
words, the use of, are interpolated. Without them, the clause

99

CUMHADH DHAIBHIDH
Oa ceann Shauil agus lonatain. — ii. Sam. i. 19 — 27.

O ! tionnsgain m' fhonn le tuirse trom gu luaidh,
Mar tliuit an righ, nach pill o'n strith lo buaidh ;
Oir Israel siar, a mhais', a nihiagh 'sa threoir
Luidh air an t-sliabh, ach dhears a ghrian 's a ghloir.
'S a shloibhtean uain', mu'n trie rinn suaimhneas tamh,
Cha chluinu iad fuaim ach caithream-buadh' nan naruh.
Biodh tosd 's an t-saogh'l, — oir thuit na laoich le'm beum,
\S air slios nam beann tha 'n sgiath 's an lann gun f heum :
'S their Gat nan dee, " Mo ghaisgich fein thug buaidh,
A's ludah ghcill — biodh ainm a Dhe gun luaidh."
() 'shlcibhtean aigh ! an dealta tlath cha bhraon
Mu 'r slios gu brach, 's a' mhaise dh'fhag an raon ;
Oir thuit na sloigh — bha 'n sgiath gu 'm foir gun stath,
\ 'a shearg fo leon am mais', am beo, 's am blath.
Thuit righ nan euchd — thuit 6g nam beus gun bhuaidh,
'S an tosd a' bhais am measg an air tha 'n uaigh ;
Ach 's trie a sheinn an saighde srann sa' bhlar,
'S a bhoillsg an lann gu sgrios an naimh san ar.
Bu ghradhach, caoin 'nam beo na laoich a threig,
A's thuit iad comhla, 's luidh fo leon an eig.
Mar f hireun speur bha 'n lugh an reidh nam blar,
'S mar phrionns' na frithe, treun gu strith nan ar.
A nigh'nan ludah, guilibh dluth 'ur deoir,
'S ur caoidh mu'n righ a dhiol dhuibh riomhadh oir,
Chuir loinu a b' aird' air eideadh b' aillidh sgiamh,
'S a shoillsich srol nan leug bu bhoidhche fiamh.
C' uim' thuit na sloigh bu bhoillsgeil gldir fo'n cruaidh,
'S am bratach gheiU, bu Treoir nan treun gu buaidh ?
'S an gairdean treun bu reachdmhor beum gun chlith,
"S an l;\n-shuil fann bhiodh laiste 'n am na strith ?
O oig nam beus ! a thuit fo bheum nan daoi,
Bu chaomh rium fein, 's tu fath mo dheur 'e mo chaoidh —
An 6g-bhean chiuin cha taisbein tus a gradh
D'a ceile 6g, mar nochd thu dhomh-sa baigh.
Tha bron ga m' chlaoidh, 's is trie le d' chuimhn* mo dheoir !
Mo chreach ! mo chradh ! tha 'm fiuran aigh gun treoir !
C'uim' thuit na sloigh? Bha'n sgiath gu'm foir gun stath,
A's shearg fo leou am mais', am beo, 's am blath.

thus: "He bade them teach the children of Judah the
How;'' suggesting that this was the title given to the lamentation
MS. 11, from the repeated mention of the bow in it. It is observable,
:ul<ls Dr Kitto, that the translation of the Septuagint and of UK-
older editions and manuscripts of the Vulgate are quite conform-
able to this interpretation.

100

I weep thy lost friendship — but vain is my sorrow —
The dead is the darling of Judah no more ;
Time's dream is advancing — God speed the glad morrow..
When love is unending — when sighing is o'er.

CONFIDENCE IN GOD.

0 why art thou cast down my soul !

Say why, distrustful still, —
Or why, with vain impatience, roll

O'er scenes of future ill ?

Let faith suppress each rising fear,

Each anxious doubt exclude ;
Thy Maker's will hath placed thee here ;

Thy Maker wise and good.

He to thy every trial knows

Its just restraint to give ;
Attentive to behold thy woes,

And faithful to- relieve

Though griefs unnumber'd throng thee round7,.

Still in thy God confide,
Whose finger marks the seas their bound,

And curbs the headlong tide.

And why art thou cast down my soul !

Say why, distrustful still, —
Or why, with vain impatience, roll

O'er scenes of future ill 1

SPRING.

Pleasing spring again is here,
Trees and fields in bloom appear;
Hark I the birds with artless lays
Warble the Creator's praise.
Where, in winter, all was snow,
Now the flowers in clusters grow ;.
And the corn, in green array,.
Promises a harvest-day.

10!

'S their Gat nan dee, " Mo ghaisgich fein thug buaidh ;
A's Israel gheill — biodh ainm a Dhe gun luaidh ; "
Ach ludah ait gu'n seiun, 'n uair 's frasaich'*deoir,
" 'S e Triath nan speur mo Thaice threun 's mo Threoir.'

MUINGHINN ANN AN DIA.

C'ar son, 0 m' anam, tha thu trom !

A's an-earbsach do ghnath, —
"S do smuaintean 'ruith neo-f haighidneach

Air uilo tha fad o laimh ?

Deanadh do chreideamh tosd a chur

Air t'uile smuaintean bras ;
'Se Dia a dh' orduich thu bhi'n so,

An Dia 'ta glic a's maith.

A's cuiridh Esan crioch 'na thra,

Ri d' thrioblaid a's ri d' Icon ;
Oir bheirear leis fa'near do chaoidh,

A's saorar thu o bhron.

Ged bhitheas do thrioblaidean mor,

Earb thus' a ghna a Dia ;
'S i 'lamh a chuireas crioch roi 'n mhuir,

'S a thionndas stoirm gu fiath.

^S c' ar son a tha thu, anaim, trom,

A's an-earbsach do ghna, —
"S do smuaintean 'ruith neo-f haighidneach,

Air uilc tha fad o lainoh ?

AN T-EARRACH.

Thainig a rls an t-earrach aigh,

Tha 'choill 1s na 16in a' fas fo bhlath ;

Cluinn ! na h-eoin le 'n ceileir seimh

'Seinn cliu d 'an Cruith'ear a th'air neamh.

Tha'n t-ait' bha 'n sneachd' sa gheamhradh 'comh-

Nis air fas fo strachd do ne6inein ; [dach

'S am fochuim urar, bileach, uaine

'Gealltuinn gu'n tig la na buanadh.

102

What a change has taken place !
Emblem of the spring of grace ;
How the soul, in winter, mourns
Till the Lord, the Sun, returns ;
Till the Spirit's gentle rain
Bids the heart revive again ;
Then the stone is turned to flesh,
And each grace springs forth afresh.

Lord, afford a spring to me,
Let me feel like what I see ;
Ah ! my winter has heen long,
Chill'd my hopes, and stopp'd my song
Winter threaten,d to destroy
Faith, and love, and every joy ;
If thy life was in the root,
Still I could not yield the fruit*

Speak, and by thy gracious voice
Make my drooping soul rejoice ;
0 ! beloved Saviour, haste,
Tell me all the storms are past :
On thy garden deign to smile,
Raise the plant, enrich the soil ;
Soon thy presence will restore
Life to all was dead before.

Lord, Irlong to be at home,
Where these changes never come !
Where the saints no winter fear,
Where 'tis spring throughout the year
How unlike this state below,
There the flowers unwithering blow ;
There no chilling blasts annoy,
All is love, and bloom, and joy.*

* The above, as well as the "Covenanter's Dream,'' "Field
Flowers," and " Verses supposed to have been written by Alexan-
der Selkirk," have been translated by the late James Clerk, Black-
smith, from Kilbrandon, Argyleshire. Mr Clerk was a young man
of superior literary attainments, and from the taste and ability he
displayed in translating both prose and poetry, he gave great pro-

103

Nach 'eil an caochladh th'ann an tras'
Na shamhladh nor air earrach grais ?
Mar ni'n t-anam bron 'na gheamhradh
Gus am pilll Dia a' ghrian d'a ionnsuidh ;
Gus an dean dealta tlath nan gras
An cridh' ath-bheothachadh gu fas :
'N sin iompaichear gu feoil a' cblach,
A's bruchdaidh ur gach gras a mach.

A Thighearna thoir m' earrach dhomhsa,
Mar a chi mi ^leig dhomh mho'chainn ;
Ah ! 'se mo gheamhradh-sa bha buan,
Chrion mo dhochas, stad mo dhuan :
An geamhradh bhagair sgrios gun bhaigh
Air solas, dochas, agus gradh ;
Do bheatha-sa 'san f hreumh ma bha
Cha tug mi toradh mach no blath.

Labhair a nis gu baigheil rium,
Slanuich m' anam tursach, trom ;
0! Shlan'fhir ionmhuinn amhairc orm,
Innis domh gu'n d' f halbh an stoirm :
Air do lios neo-thorach seall,
Tog a bhlaithean, reamhraich f honn ;
Bheir do ghnuis-sa 'chlisgeadh fas
Do gach ui bha thun dol has.

Tha fadal orm gu bhi san ait'

Air nach bi caochladh tigh'nn gu brach 1

Far nach cuir an geamhradh fiamh,

Far an earrach fad na bliadhn' :

Fonn an aoibhneis, tir an aigh,

Far nach crlon 's nach searg am blath ;

Cha bhi cranntachd arm no fuachd,

Ach solas, gradh, a's ailleachd nuadh.

raise of future usefulness. He died in Glasgow, after a short ill-
ness, on the 20ih November, 1845; and, considering his Christian
\vnlk and conversation, there is cause to hope that he is one of the
'1 inhabitants of that glorious country, —
" Where the saiuts no winter fear,
Where 'tis spring throughout the year."

104

AFRICAN HOSPITALITY.*

The loud wind roared, the rain fell fast,
The white man yielded to the blast ;
He sat him down heneath our tree,
For weary, sad and faint was he :
And Ah ! no wife or mother's care,
For him the milk and corn prepare.

The storm is o'er, the tempest past,
And Mercy's voice has hush'd the blast ;
The wind is heard in whispers low,
The white man far away must go ; —
But ever in his heart will bear
Remembrance of the Negro's care.

CHORUS.

The white man shall our pity share,
Alas ! no wife or mother's care,
For him the milk or corn prepare.
Go white man, go ; but with thee bear
The Negro's wish, the Negro's prayer,
Remembrance of a Negro's care.

THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM.

When, marshall'd on the nightly plain,

The glittering host bestud the sky ;
One star alone of all the train,

Can fix the sinner's wandering eye.

Hark ! hark ! to God the chorus breaks,
From every host, from every gem ;

* Mungo Park, the African Traveller, says :— " About sunset,
a woman, returning from the labours of the field observed me sit-
ting under the shade of a tree where I intended to have passed the
night, and perceiving that I was weary and dejected, inquired into
ray situation ; which being explained she told me to follow her.
Having conducted me to her hut she lighted a lamp, spread a mat
<»n the floor, and then presented me with a fine fish, half broiled.
Hhe then called the female part of her family to resume their task
of spinning cotton, in which they were employed during a great
part of the nitrht. They soothed their labour by songs; one of
which was extempore, and myself the subject of it." The above

105
FIAL'ACHD NAN AFRICANACII.

Na gaothan sheid gu coimheach, fuar,
A's bhruchd a nuas an t-uisge trom ;
An duine geal a stigh cha d' f huair,
Ge b'olc a thuar a mach air loui.

An ciar' an anmoich shuidh e sios
A ghabhail fois fo sgaile craoibh' ;
Oir bha e fann, a's Ian do sgios —
Bu dubhach, diblidh cor an aoidh.'

0 ! cha 'n 'eil aige mathair thlath
A bheir o iith iia ba am bliochd ;
No ceile 'sheallas ris gu blath,
'S a mheileas dha an gran le h-iochd.

LUINNEAG.

Gu'n gabh sinn ris le iochd a's baigh —
Gu'n uochd sin cairdeas dha a's miagh :
Cha'n fhaigh e bainn' o 'mhathair aigh>
A's ceile graidh cha toir dha biadh.

REUL BHETLEHEIM.

'N uair tha reulta ard nan speur,

A' dealradh le cheil' san iarmalt shuas ;

'N am measg gu leir tha lochrann iuil,
A thairneas suil a' pheacaich thruaigh.

Eisd ! eisd! do Dhia tha cho'sheirm bhinn,
0 reuita grinn a' ghuirm bhrait aird ;

is a translation of the song. The following is another version ot
it, from the pen of John Struthers, author of " The Peasant's
Death-Bed," &c., &c.

The winds they were roaring, the rains they were pouring,

When lonely the white man a wonder to see :
Both hungry and weary, desponding and dreary,

He came and he sat m the shade of our tree.
No mother is bye him, with milk to supply him ;

He wanders an outcast, how sad must he be ?
Even corn, could he find it, he has no wife to grind it;
Let us pity the white man, no mother has he.

106

But one alone the Saviour speaks,
It is the star of Bethlehem.

Once on the raging seas I rode,

The storm was loud, the night was dark ;
The ocean yawn'd, — and rudely blow'd

The wind that toss'd my foundering bark.

Deep horror then my vitals froze,

Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem ;

When suddenly a star arose,
It was the Star of Bethlehem.

It was my guide, my light, my all,
It bade my dark forebodings cease ;

And through the storm, and danger's thrall,
It led me to the port of peace.

Now, safely moor'd — my perils o'er,
I'll sing, first in night's diadem,

For ever and for evermore,

The Star !— The Star of Bethlehem !

THE FOUNTAIN.

" In that day there shall be a fountain opened to the house of
David, and to the inhabitants of Jerusalem, for sin and for
uncleanness."— Zechariah, xiii. 1 .

O the Lamb ! the bleeding Lamb!

The Lamb on Calvary;
The Lamb that was slain;
And has risen asrain,

And now intercedes for me. *

THERE is a fountain fill'd with blood

Drawn from Emmanuel's veins ;
And sinners plung'd beneath that flood,

Lose all their guilty stains.

O the Lamb, &c.

* When the late Mr Duncan Macdougall, Tiree, translated this
Hvmn to Gaelic, he adapted it to an original but most touch-

107

Tha h-aon a mhain 'toirt sgeul mu Chriosd,
Reul Bhetleheim ! Reul an aigh !

Thuit dhomh uair bhi mach air chuan,

Bha 'n oi'che duaichnidh — sheid a' ghaoith .

Dh'at an cuan, 's bha siopan fairg',

Ag ia'dh gu garbh m'an eithear fhaoin.

Ghlac uamhann eagail m'anam bochd,
'S mi mach air faontra' fad o thraigh ;

'N uair dh'eirich Reul rinn dhomh-sa iul,
Reul Bhetleheim ! Reul an aigh.

Mo sholus ait, mo lochrann gaoil,

An sealladh faoilt do mj chridhe sgith,

0 crhabhadh cuain, 's o ghlaic a' bhais,
'S tu thalaidh mi gu caladh slth.

'S a chaladh ait so ni mi tarah,

Gun sgios, gun phramh gu'n. seinn mi cliu ;
O'n am so mach gu siorruidh buan,

Do Reul nam buadh a rinn domh iul.

AN TOBAR

•• Anus an lu sin bidh tobar air fhosgladh do thigh Dhaibhidh,
nuii* do luchd-uiteachaidh lerusaleim, air son peacaidh agus ail'
Min neo-ghloine.'1— Sechariah, xiii. 1.

Och an t-tlan ! 's fhuil a'sileadh a nuas;

An t-Uan air Calbhari,
An t-Uan u cbasgradh gu bas,
'S a ris a dh' eiricb an iiird,

Nis a' tagradh le gradh mo shith.

THA tobar ann 's e Ian do dh' fhuil

Tha tairnt' o chuislibh los' ;
Gach peacacb 'thilgear sios fo'n tuil,

Glan buileach thig e nios.

Uch an t-Uan, &c.

Air ; and prefixed a Seisd, or Chorus, to it. He also pre~
tbe substance of that Chorus to the original.

108

1Ilie dying thief rejoic'd to see

That fountain in his day ;
And there have I, as vile as he,

Wash'd all my sins away.

O the Lamb, &c.

Dear dying Lamh ! thy precious blood

Shall never lose its power,
Till all the ransom'd church of God

Be sav'd to sin no more.

O the Lamb, &c.

E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream

Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme,

And shall be till I die.

O the Lamb, &c;

Then in a nobler, sweeter song

I'll sing thy powV to save,
When this poor lisping, stam'ring tongue

Lies silent in the grave.

O the Lamb, &c.

Lord, I believe thou hast prepared

(Unworthy though I be)
For me a blood-bought free reward —

A golden harp for me.

0 the Lamb, &c.

'Tis strung, and tun'd, for endless years,
And form'd by pow*r divine ;

To sound in God the Father's ears
No other name but thine.

O the Lamb, &c.

HAPPINESS.

One morning, in the month of May,

I wander'd o'er the hill ;
Tho' nature all around was gay,

My heart was heavy still.

Can God, I thought, the just, the great,
These meaner creatures bless,

109

Hirra an gadaich' d&n' ri uchd a' bhais

M6r ghairdeachas na brigh ;
'S nach f haodar learns', co'ionnan coirbt',

Mo pheac'an ionnlad innt'.

Och an t-Uan, &c

Och Uain a ghrtiidh ! t' f huil phriseil, bhlath

Cha chaill gu brath a brigh,
Oas am bi 'mhuinntir shaort' air fad

0 'm peac'an glan d'a trid.

Och an t-Uan, &c.

O n' dhearc mo shuil ri d' chreuchdaibh ciuirt'

A' bruchdadh cungaidh slaint',
Gradh saoraidh an Uain mo cheol 's mo

'S a bhios gu uair mo bhais. [bhuaidh,
Och an t-Uan, &c.

'N sin seinneam oran 's milse ceol

Air cumhachd mor do ghr&is,-
'N uair bhios an teanga mhanntach, thruagh

Gu balbh 'san uaigh na tamh.

Och an t-Uan, &c.

Dhe creideam fein, gu 'n d' ulmhaich thu,

(Neo-airidh 's mar tha mi)
'S ann air mo shon, luach fola saor —

Seadh, clarsach oir dhomh fein.

Och an t-Uan, &c.

Chuir cumhachd mor gach teud air doigh,

Gu ceol air feadh gach re,
Gu seinn 'an cluasan Righ nan sluagh,

'S gun ainm ach Uan na r6it'.

Och an t-Uan, &c.

SON AS.

Dh'f halbh mi moch sa' Cheiteaii chiuin
Air chuairt ri uchd nan torn ;

Bha'n saoghal aillidh, aoibhinn, ait,
Mo chridhe 'mhdin bha trom.

A' bheil gach aite, smuaintich mi,
Le maitheas De cho Ian,

110

And yet deny to man's estate
The boon of happiness.

Tell me, ye woods, ye smiling plains, —

Ye blessed birds around,
In which of nature's wide domains

Can bliss for man be found !

The birds wild caroll'd o'er my head,
The breeze around me blew,

And nature's awful chorus said —
No bliss for man she knew.

I question'd Love, whose early ray

So rosy bright appears,
And heard the timid genius say

His light was dimm'd by tears.

I question'd Friendship, but she sigh'd,
And thus her answer gave —

The few whom fortune never turn'd
Were mould 'ring in the grave.

I ask'd if Vice could bliss bestow ?

Vice boasted loud and well ;
But, fading from her wither'd brow,

The borrowed roses fell.

T sought of Feeling, if her skill
Could soothe the wounded breast ;

And found her mouring, faint, aud still,-
For others' woes distress'd.

I question'd Virtue, but she sigh'd,
No boon could she dispense —

Nor Virtne was her name, she cried,
But humble Penitence.

I asked Death — the grisly shade

Kelax'd his brow severe ; —
And " I am happiness," he said,

" If Jesus guides thee here."

H Y M N.— MAT. vi. 25.
Whence this fruitless mourning ?
Christians, why those tears ?

Ill

'S an diult e sonas, seasmhach, buan,
Do in' chridhe trom a mhain ?

Labhradh a7 choill — 0 ! 's binn na h-eoin ;

Labhradk gach glac a's cluan,
'Bheil ait' air bith san t-saoghal inhor,

Am faigh mi sonas buan ?

Ach sheinn na h-eoin os cionn mo cbinn,

A's sh&d a' ghaoith gu tlath ;
Buan shonas cba 'n 'eil againn duit,

Chualas gach guth ag radh.

'N sin dh' f hedraich mi do Ghaol nam buadh
'N robh solas buan fo'n ghrein ?

Cha 'n f hiosrach mi, deir e, fo bhr&n,
'S na deoir na shiiilibh fein.

Dh' fheoraich mi cheist do Chairdeas blath,

Fhreagair e mi gu luath ;
Tha daimh mo ghraidh nach diobradh mi

'Nan smeadh anns an uaigh.

Lan shonas thairg dhomh Baobh an uilc,

Na'n tugainn dhise geill ;
Dh' at i le h-uaill, — a's chunnaic mi

Gur breug a bha 'na beul.

Ghuidh mi'n sin air Caoimhneas caomh

Mo bheannachadh le slth ;
Ach fhuair mi ise bronach, fann

Mu dhaimh a bh'ann an dith.

Gu Deadh-bheus aillidh chaidh mi'n sin,

Chuala mi cnead na com ;
'Se 'sainm a nis dhomh, fhreagair i,

Aithreachas tiamhaidh, trom.

Rainig mi righ nam fiamh, am bas ;

Ach labhair e gu ioill,
" Is sonas mi nach meall gu brath

Na thig tre Chriosd a'm' choir.

LAO I DEL— MATA vi. 25.
C 'arson tha 'n t-ionracan fo sprochd,
A' triall roi' ghleann nau deur ?

112

Why give way to sadness,
Doubts and anxious fears ?

Grieve no more, desponding :
On your God rely —

Mark, He feeds the ravens,
Hears their young ones cry.

He the spotless lilies

Clothes in dazzling white ;
Say, what monarch's splendour

Half so pure and bright ?
Since the fowls and flowers

Are objects of his care,
Much more, Jesus tells,

Saints his love shall share.

BEGONE UNBELIEF.

Begone unbelief, ray Saviour is near
And for my relief will surely appear ;
By prayer let me wrestle, and he will perform,
With Christ in the vessel I smile at the storm-
Though dark be my way, since he is niy guide,
'Tis mine to obey, 'tis his to provide ;
Though cisterns be broken, and creatures all fail,
The words he has spoken shall surely prevail.
His love in times past forbids me to think
He'll leave me at last in trouble to sink;
Each sweet Ebenezer I have in review
Confirms his good pleasure to help me quite through-
Desirous to save, he watch'd o'er my path,
When, Satan's blind slave, I sported with death ;
And can he have taught me to trust in his name,
An thus far have brought me to put me to shame ?
Why should I complain of want or distress,
Temptation or pain ? He told me BO less ;
The heirs of salvation, I know from his word,
Through much tribulation must follow their Lord.
How bitter that cup, no heart can conceive,
Which he drank all up, that sinners might live !
His way was much rougher and darker than mine;.
Did Jesus thus suffer and shall 1 repine ?
Since all that I meet shall work for my good,
The bitter is sweet, the med'eine is food ;
Though painful at present, 'twill cease before long.
And then, 0 how pleasant the conqueror's song!

113

An diobair Dia o 'n am na h-airc,

Nach dean e taic 'n a f heum ?
Feuch coin nan speur tha 'seinn gu Linn,

Cha chuir iad siul 's cha bhuain ;
Gidheadh tha Dia a' freasdal duibh,

Le eaoimhneas, cairdeil, buan.

Feuch blaithean maoth nan cluaintean ur,

Cha saoth'raich iad, 's cha snionih ;
Gidheadh air Solamh fein cha robh

Deise cho aillidh riarah.
An Dia a dh'eisdeas gairm nan eun,

'S a chomhdaicheas gach blath,
Nach solair e do'n Chriosdaidh chaomh

A mhaoin o la gu la.

AN-EARBSA BI 'SIUBHAL.

An-earbsa bi 'siubhal, mo Shlan'ear tha 'in chuideachd,
toileach, a's murrach air m' f hurtachd a'm f heum ;
iSior ghleachdam le h-urnuigh, 's ni esau an turn domh —
Le Tosa 'gam stiuradh cha chiiram leara beud.
<ied isdoilleir an rod Jomh 'ghn.Uh geilleam d'a brdugk
'S ni esan uio sheoladh, 's bheir lou domh gun dith :
Cied fhaiinich gu buileach gach creutair sa' chruinne,
Gacli focal a thuirt thig uile gu crich.

Tha 'ghradh 'bha cho caoin domh a' bacadh dhomh shaoilsinn
Ou'm fag e ri m' shaogh'l mi am aonar gun taic':
Tha h-uil' Ebeneser mar chuiuahneachau feumail,
'(r radii, " Thug 's bheir e Fein as gach eigin thu mach."
<»u m' aiseag gu slainte chaomh-f hair e mo ghnath'chadh,
Traill Shatain *n uair bha ini. ag abhachd ri sgrios :
> an d' rinn e mo threorach 'chur anu-san mo dhbchais,
'S am fag e gu bronach 'an dbruinn mi 'uis ?
C'uim' bhithinn fo anntlachd 'thaobh easbhuidh no amhghar
Gach trioblaid a1 HI' chrannchur roimh laimh nochd e fein:
"S tre dheuchainnibh goirte, mar 's fios domh o 'Fhocal,
Tha oighreachan sonais 'ga lorgach' 'sgach ceum.
Cho searbh 'sa bha 'n cup' sin cha bhreithnich aon duine,
'Dh'61 losa gu buileach, a' fulang 'nuit' dhaoin'!
B'i 'shligh'-s' bu doimhich'/s bu sheirbhe gun choimeas,
O ! aoaim faic f hoigh'dinn *s o 'oideas na claon.
O n' dh'aomas a f hr^asdal gach aou ni gu ra' leas domh,
Is milis a mheasam gach leigheas uaith' Fein:
An drasd ann an airceas, ach 'n aithghearr' an aiteas,
sin, 0 cia taitueach buaidh-chaithreama sheinnl

114

FREEDOM.

[The following thrilling lines on the total abolition of West In-
dian Slavery were written by Mrs Garret, a lady well known
for her liberality and other amiable qualities.]

Oh ! heard ye that groan that ascended to heaven ?
Oh ! saw ye that tear as the torture was given ?
Or mark'd ye the anguish, despairing and wild,
Of the mother who gaz'd on her manacl'd child ?

'Twas the last, for the reign of oppression is o'er —
'Twas the last, for her son shall be fetter'd no more !
The Angel of mercy has broken his chain,
And liberty blesses the negro again.

Then sound the loud timbrel o'er India's wide sea,
Jehovah has triumph'd, his people are free !
Jehovah has granted the captive release,
And the mandate has issued, " Let slavery cease ! "

"MY FATHER'S AT THE HELM."

'Twas when the sea's tremendous roar

A little bark assail'd,
And pallid fear, with awful power,

O'er all on board prevail'd.

Save one, the captain's darling child,
Who, fearless, viewed the storm,

And playful, with composure, srmTd
At danger 's threat'ning form.

"Why sporting thus ? " a seaman cried,

" Whilst sorrows overwhelm."
tf Why yield to grief? " the boy replied,

" My father's at the helm." *

Despairing soul ! from hence be taught

How groundless is thy fear ;
Think on what wonders Christ has wrought,

And he is always near.

Safe in his hands, whom seas obey,

When swelling billows rise ;
Who turn the darkest night to day,

And brightens lowering skies.

115

S AORSA.

An cuala tu 'n glaodh sin a dh'eirich gu h-ard —

An acain, an caoidh, a's na h-osnaichean craidh ?

Am faca tu deuran a' chiomaich gu trom

Mar fhrasan nan speuran a' sileadh air fonn ?

O ! 'm faca tu co bha 'na seasamh r'a thaobh,

A'coimhead air dolasan crAiteach a gaoil —

A' bualadh a h-uchd agus deoir air a gruaidh,

Gun chomas a ceile a shaoradh o thruaigh' ?

Ach dh'eirich an glaodh ud gu righ-chathair Dhe,

'S bhrist Angeal na saorsa na cuibhrichean geur —

Tha Daorsa a nis ann an daorsa i fein —

Tha mhathair 's a maothran a' mireadh le cheiP !

'Nis seidibh an trompaid — biodh an tiompan air ghleus,

Tha buaidh le lehobhah — tha 'phobull gu leir

O sharachadh cruaidh an luchd-foireignidh saor;

Oir 's i 'n aithne a chualas, " Biodh ciomaich fa sgaoil."

"THA M'ATHAIR AIR AN STIUIR."

Dh'eirich an f hairge, 's sheid a' ghaoth,

A's b'aobhar oillt an fhuaim,
Do n' h-uile aon san eithear f haoin

Air faontra' feadh a' chuain.

Ach mac an sgiobair, balachan maoth,

Uhual' e gun gheilt an toirm ;
Fiamh aiteis ard gu'n robh 'na ghnuis,

Gun smuairean air roi'n stoirm.

Dh'fheoraich aon do'n sgiobadh dheth

C'arson bha e cho ciuin ?
11 Cha 'n eagal domh-sa," f hreagair e,

" Tha m' athair air an

Mar so, 'n uair dhiobras solas sinn,

'S an cridh' le dolas Ian,
Tha acair dhaingean ann nach treig,

'S e Dia is Dia amhain.

R'ar n-iirnuigh cromaidh Dia a chluas,
A's fuasgladh luath bheir dhuinn ;

Ar deoir gu aiteas tionndaidh 3 —
Gu aoibhneas fath ar teinn.

116

Then upward look, howe'er distressed,

Jesus will guide thee home,
To that blest port of endless rest,

Where storms shall never come.

A CRADLE-HYMN.
Hush ! my Bear, lie still and slumber,

Holy Angels guard thy bed !
Heavenly blessings without number,

Gently falling on thy head.

Sleep, my babe ; thy food and raiment,
House and home thy friends provide ;

All without thy care and payment,
All thy wants are well supplied.

How much better thou'rt attended
Than the son of God could be,

When from heaven he descended,
And became a child like thee ?

Soft and easy is thy cradle :

Coarse and hard the Saviour lay ;

When his birth-place was a stable,
And his softest bed was hay.

Bhssed Babe ! what glorious features,
Spotless fair, divinely bright !

Must he dwell with brutal creatures ?
How could angels bear the sight !

Was there nothing but a manger

Wicked sinners could afford
To receive the heavenly stranger ?

Did they thus affront their Lord !

Soft my child : I did not chide thee,
Though my song might sound too hard

'Tis thy mother sits beside thee,
And her arm shall be thy guard.

Yet to read the shameful story,
How the Jews abused their King :

How they served the Lord of glory
Makes me angry while I sing.

117

'Measg amhgharaibh an t-saogliail thruaigh

Earbaibh a Dia nan dul,
Ag radh an la na gaillinn chruaidh,

" Tha m' Athair air an stiuir."

LAOIDII ALTRUIM.

Ba ! mo leanabh, caidil samhach,
Ainglean aghmhor 'bhi ort teann !

Driiichdadh beannachdan gun aireaiuh
As na h-ardaibh air do cheann.

Caidil 'eudail ! cba'n 'eil eis ort ;

T'fbardach, t'eideadh, a's do Ion
Solaraidh do chairdean fein duit,

'S cha'n iarr eiric uait} no or.

'S fearr do ghiullachd agus t'ailleas
Na bha caramh caomh Mhic Dhe,

'N uair a thuirling e o'n airde —

'Dh'f has 'na phaisdein uiar tbu fein.

Tha do chreathall socrach, blath fo'd —
Bha do Shlanuighear gun ghleus ;

'S ann a rugadh e 'an stabull,
'S bi a leaba stata feur.

Leanabh grasmhor a chruth aluinn I
Mac an Ard-righ, gniiis na sgeirah !

'Measg nam bruid a* gabhail fardaich,
Fath chur craidh air sluagh nan neatnh !

Nach robh ionad ach a' phrasach
Aig na peacaich bhaolh, gu dlon

A chur air an aoidhe mhaiseach ? —
Feuch mar mhaslaich iad an Triath !

Cuist, a ghraidh ! cha d' thug mi grachd ort,
Ged bha fonn mo dhaiii car searbh ;

'S i do mhathair a ta lainh riut,
'S ni a gairdeana do thearm'.

Ach air cuimhneachadh an sgeoil domh,

Mar bha Righ na g!6ir' an teinn,
Aig na h-Iudhaich mar fhear do-bheairt,

118

Lo, he slumbers in the manner,
Where the horned oxen fed ;

Peace, my darling here 's no danger,
Here 's no ox beside thy bed.

'Twas to save thee, child, from dying —
Save my dear from burning flame,

Bitter groans, and endless crying,
That thy blessed Redeemer came.

May'st thou live to know and fear him,
Trust and love him all thy days !

Then go, dwell for ever near him,
See his face, and sing his praise.

I could give thee thousand kisses,
Hoping what I most desire :

Not a mother's fondest wishes
Can to greater joys aspire.

GOODNESS OF GOD.

Child. — I saw the glorious sun arise
From yonder mountain grey ;
And as he travelled through the sky

The darkness fled away.
And all around me was so bright—
I wished it would be always light.

But when his shining course was done,

The gentle moon drew nigh,
And stars came twinkling, one by one,

Upon the shady sky : —
Who made the sun to shine so far,
The moon and every twinkling star ?

Mother. — 'Twas God, my child, who made them all

By his Almighty skill :
He keeps them, that they do not fall,

And guides them as he will ; —
That glorious God, who lives afar,
In heaven beyond the highest star.

Child. — How very great that God must be,

Who rolls them through the air !
Too high, Mamma, to notice me,
Or listen to my prayer !

119

Faic 'na chadal c 'sa' phrasaich —
Am ibchar dhamh a' cnamh an cir :

Fois, a ruin, clia 'n f hath dhuit caisleach',
Cha 'n 'eil daimh an coir do chinn-s'.

'S ann gu thus', a ghraidh a dli\on

0 bhas, o phian, o ghul, 's o ghruaim ;

0 lasair bhuan, 'so ghiosgan fhiacal,
"Thainig losa Criosd a nuas.

Gu ma beo dhuit dh' f has air eolach,
'S a chur dochas ann gach la !

'N sin gu siorruidh ni thu cdmhnuidh
Larah ris fein 'an tlr an aigh.

Bheirinn mile, mile pog dhuit

Leis an dochas th'air mo mhiann ;

Chaoidh cha 'n iarradh mathair solas
'S mo na h- oigridh bhi aig Dia.

MAITHEAS DE.

Leanabh. — Channaic mi 'ghrian ag eiridh suas

0 chul nam beanntan garbh ;
'S mar thriall i suas gu aird' nan speur,

Gu'n d' theich an dorch' air falbh.
'N sin thaom an solus mach mu'n cuairt,
'Cur air gach machair raais' a's snuadh.

Cho luath 's a chriochnaich is' a reis
Gu'n d' cirich 'ghealach chaoin ;

'S na deigh-s' gu'n d' thaisbean anns an speur
Na reultan, aon a's aon : —

Co rinn a' ghrian, 's a' ghealach fein,

'S na reultan aillidh ud gu Icir.

Mathair. — 'S e Dia, mo ghaol, le 'neart ro threun

'Rinn iad gu Icir an tus :
Leis ghloidheadh iad o thuiteam slos,

A's riaghladh iad 'nan curs' ; —
'N Dia glormhor ard 'tha 'gabhail tamh
Os ceann nan reultan shuas air neamh.

.'ilh. — Cia mdr an Dia sin ann an neart

'Tha 'gluasad feachd nan speur !
Ro ard tha e gu toirt la near
Aon ghearan 'thig o m' bheu !

120

O tell me, will he condescend
To be a little infant's friend.

Mother. — He will, my love ; for though he made

Those wonders in the sky,
You never need to be afraid

He shonld neglect your cry ;
For, humble as a child may be,
A child that prays he loves to see.

Behold the daisy where you tread,

That little lowly thing ;
Behold the insects over-head,

That play about in spring .
Though we may think them mean and small,
Yet God takes notice of them all.

And will not Jesus deign to make

A feeble child his care ?
Ah, yes ! he died for children's sake,

And loves the infant's prayer. —
God made the stars and daisies too,
And watches over them and you.

THE FARMER.

Fair breaks the morn o'er yonder eastern sky,
And brightening hills in pleasing prospect rise,
How blest the man whose peaceful days are spent
In useful exercise and calm content !
Who with the lark salutes the early dawn,
Breathes ruddy health from every breezy lawn ;
Far from the world, retired to rural shades,
"Where loathsome dissipation ne'er invades.
The rustic swain, while toiling soon and late,
Is ever glad, nor grudges at his fate ;
And thus disposed to work the fruitful soil,
Feels dignity and pleasure in the toil !
No ills he hears, no dangers does he fear,
All 's peace around within his narrow sphere.

THE RESURECTION OF CHRIST.

Christ, the Lord, is risen to-day !
Sons" of men, and angels say;
liaise your joys and triumphs high —
Sing, ye heavens, and earth reply.

121

O ! mhathair innsibh 'n deonach leis
Eisdeachd ri leanabh baoth mar mis' ?

M&ihair. — Mo ghaol, gun teagamh, 's deonach leis ;

'S ged rinn e feachd nan speur
Na bitheadh eagal idir ort

Nach cluinn e thu a t' fheum ;
Do leanabh beag, 'tha lag a's faoin,
A bhios ag urnuigh 's mor a ghaol.

Seall air an neonain iosal, f hann

'Bhios clann a' saltairt BIOS ;
Seall air a' chuileig os do cheann

Tha 'dannsa shuas gun sgios :
Ged shaoileas sinn' iad lag a's faoin,
Tha Dia 'g an cumail suas gach aon.

'S is cinnteach mi gu'n deonaich Criosd

Lan dion do leanabaibh 6g ;
'S on' dh'f mailing esan ah* an sgath

Cha diult e griis a's gloir:
Bi 'g earbsa as gach oidhch* a's la,
A's gheibh thu 'n f hois nach treig gu brach.

AN TUATHANACH.

Air fiamh na greine theachd do'n speur o'n chuan,

A thilgeadh soillse thar gach coill a's cluan,

'S a' mhadumn chiuin, 's am feur fo dhriuchd ro throm,

*S na h-eoin 'n an cdisridh 'm barr nan 6b 's nan torn,

A* seinn an ceoil gu fonnmhor, bbidheach, bum,

'S mac-tall'-nan-creag 'co-f hreagaradh d'an seinn.

'M fear-duthcha suau-ce duisgidh suas a shuain,

'S ann leis bu taitueach claistinneachd na fuaim :

<iu sunndach, ait gu'n tig e mach do'n raon,

'N deigh sgios, 's an oidhche chur a chuimhn' gu faom

R'a obair chleachdta teannaidh e gun dail,

A chuireas neart a's fallaineachd 'na chail ;

A's raiann air maoin cha chraidh, 's cha chlaoidh a chri',

?S e 'mealtumn neart a's fallaineachd mar ni.

AISEIRIDH CHRIOSD.

Dh'eirich Criosd a nlos o'n uaigh !
Seinnibh na tha bhos a's shuas ;
Seinn a thalaimh, seinn a neamh,
Cuiribh uile 'chliu am mend,

122

Love's redeeming work is done ;
Fought the fight, the battle won :
Lo ! the sun's eclipse is o'er ;
Lo ! he sets in hlood no more.

Vain the stone, the watch, the seal,
Christ has burst the gates of hell ;
Death in vain forbids his rise,
Christ has opened paradise.

Lives again our glorious King,
"Where, 0 death, is now thy sting ?
Once he died our souls to save,
Where 's thy victory boasting, grave ?

Soar we now where Christ has led,
Following our exalted Head ;
Made like him, like him we rise,
Ours the cross, the grave, the skies.

Hail, thou Lord of earth and heaven,
Praise to thee by both be given !
Thee we greet triumphant now,
Hail ! the Resurrection — Thou.

CHRIST'S KINGDOM.*

Jesus shall reign where'er the sun
His vast successive course shall run ;
His kingdom stretch from shore tc shore,
Till moons shall wax and wane no more. t

Through him shall endless prayer be made,
And ceaseless praises crown his head ;
His name, like sweet perfume, shall rise,
With every morning sacrifice.

People and realms of every tongue
Dwell on his love with sweetest song ;
And infant voices shall proclaim,
Their early blessings on his name.

* It has been suggested by the Rev. J. A. James of Birmingham,
and we believe very generally acted upon, that the above Hymn
should be sung on the first day of 1859, by all the Christian fami-

123

Obair chriochnaich, 's chaidh e suas,
Chuir e'n cath, a's f huair e bhuaidh ;
Dh'fhalbh an smal a bh'air a' ghrein,
A 'a dealraidh i gu slor 'na dheigh.

B' f haoin a' cblach 's gach innleacbd dhaoin',
Chuir e croinn na li-uaigb mu sgaoil ;
B' f haoin do'n bhas a ghabhail BIOS,
Dh' eirieh e le buaidh a nlos.

Feuch a nis tha losa beo,
Ghabh e c6rahnuidh ann an gloir ;
Thug a bhas an gath o'ri Bhas,
Chaill an uaigh a buaidh gu brach.

Aig Criosd a nis tha neart a's gloir,
A's riaghaladh an domhain mhoir ;
Neamh a's ifrinn tha f J a laimh,
'Sgach ni a's neach ri bheil ar daimh.

A High na gloir ! 's e so an t-agh,
Geill a's cliu thoirt duit gu brach ;
Sith a's reite riut gu slor,
So a' bheatha shuthainn, f hior.

RIOGHACHD OHRIOSD.

Do losa bheir gach cinneach geill,
O eiridh gu dol fodha grein' ;
Bidh 'uachdranachd o thraigh gu traigh,
Gus nach tomhais geallach trath.

Na 'ainm-san theid gach urnuigh suas,
A's cliu a's moladh o gach sluagh ;
'S mar bholtrach tuis theid 'ainm an aird
Le lobairt mhaduiun as gach ait'.

Gach sluagh a's duthaich tha fo'n ghrein
Ni seinn mu 'ghaol-san feadh gach re ;
'S do ainm ro-uaomha Triath na gloir
Leanabaibh 's clochrain togaidh ceol.

lies and Sabbath school children throughout the world, wherever
the English language is spoken, beginning at Britain, and travel-
ling with the sun round the globe.

124

Blessings abound where'er he reigns,
The prisoner leaps to loose his chains ;
The weary find eternal rest,
And all the sons of want are bless'd.

Where he displays his healing pow'r,
Death and the grave are fear'd no more ;
In him the sons of Adam boast
More blessings than their father lost.

Let every creature rise, and bring
Peculiar honours to our King :
Angels descend with songs again,
And earth repeat the loud Ainen

THE SAVIOUR.
In form I long had bowed my knee ;
But nought attractive then could see,
To win my wayward heart to thee,

My Saviour,

When, self-accused, I trembling stood,
I promised fair, as any could ;
But never counted on thy blood,

My Saviour.

Too soon the promise vain I proved,
That sinners make while sin is loved ,
But still to thee this heart ne'er moved,

My Saviour.

To pleasure prone, I thought it hard,
From pleasure's path to be debarr'd ;
Nor pleasure sought from thy regard,

My Saviour.

Thou whom I had so long withstood,
Thou didst redeem my soul with blood,
And thou hast brought me nigh to God,

My Saviour.

Through storms and waves of conflict past,
Thy potent arm has held me fast,
And thou wilt save me to the last,

My Saviour.

125

Bidh igh a's sonas anns gach kit',
'S am priosanach gbeibh saors' o 'chas ;
'S an neach 'tha sgith o 'shaothair fois,
A's mic na h-airc o 'n eallach goirt.

Far an nochd e 'chumhachd mor,
Cha'n fhuilgear has no cradh ni's mo ;
'S d'a thrid-san gheibhear tuilleadh aigh
N'a chaill sinn trid easumhlachd Adhaimh.

Gach creutair eireadh 's thugadh uaith'
Umhlachd 's buidheachas do'n Uan ;
?S le'n drain thigeadh aingle 'nuas
'S o 'n chruinneadh eireadh iolach suas.

AN SLANUIGHEAR.

Air sgath cleachduinn liib mo ghliin ;
Ach mais' no aill' cha 'n f hac a'd' gnuis,
A chum mo chridhe 'thoirt duit dluth,

Mo Shldnuighear,

Air bhall-chrith, 's mi fo thrioblaid gheur,
Shaoil mi gu'n deanainn fein mo r^it' —
Do t'fhuil cha d' ghabh mi suim no speis,

Mo Shlanuighear.

Ged mhothaich mi gach oidhirp baoth
Cho f had 'sa thug mi'n pheacadh gaol,
Gidheadh mo chridhe riut cha d' aom,

Mo Shlanuighear.
Mheas mi cruaidh gach ni a dh'iarr,
Bha 'toirmeasg imeachd reir mo mhiann,
'S mo thlachd-sa cha robh ann a d' riar,

Mo Shlanuighear.
Ach thusa ris an d* chuir mi cul,
Le t'fhuil gu'n d' shaor thu m' anam bruit',
'S do Dhia gu'n d' tharruing thu mi dluth.

Mo Sblanuighear.
0 ghabhadh, trioblaid, a's o theinn,
Gu'n d' shaor thu mi le d' ghairdean treun,
A's dionaidh tu mi o gach beud,

Mo Shlanuighear.

126

And when the voyage of life is o'er,
I hope to gain the heavenly shore,
And never grieve thy goodness more,

My Saviour.

THE SONG OF MOSES.
EXODUS, xv. 1.-21.

The horse and the rider are thrown in the sea,

And Israel, escaped from her bondage, is free ;

Jehovah has conquer'd — to him we will raise

The song that bursts forth from our hearts in His praise.

The arm of our God was our safety alone,
That arm has the hosts that pursued us o'erthrown ;
The God of our fathers has fought on our side,
And Pharaoh, struck down in the pomp of his pride.

His chariots and horsemen o'erwhelmed by the waves,
Have sunk in the deep ocean's fathomless graves !
Thy hand, O Jehovah, is glorious in fight,
And none can resist its omnipotent might!

The foe that rose up in his pride against Thee

Thou has scatter'd, and drown'd in the depths of the sea :

As stubble dispers'd by the wind, so the breath

Of Thy wrath in a moment hath swept them to death.

The monarch himself, his chief captains and hosts,
Lie entomb'd in the Red Sea that washes their coasts :
The blast of Thy power divided the flood,
And the billows, ascending on either side, stood.

Exulting in triumph the enemy cried,

11 I will follow — o'ertake — all the spoil will divide :

My lust in their ruin shall riot its fill ;

The sword I unsheathe — the slaves I will kill ! "

The breath of Thy spirit blew strong on the waves,
They cover'd that host in their fathomless graves ;
Like lead they sank down in the depth of the sea,
And Israel, redeem'd from her bondage, is free.

O Jehovah, our God, who with Thee can compare,
'Midst the gods of the earth, or the gods of the air ?
Whose glory, or greatness is equal to Thine ?
Whose deeds are so glorious, whose power so divine ?

Thou stretch 'd out Thy hand from the gloom of the cloud —
The earth deep engulph'd them— the sea was their shroud:

127

'S mo thuras 'n uair a thig gu crtch,

'N sin gabhaidh tu mi steach do d' riogh'chd,

'S cha chuir mi dorran ort gu sior,

Mo Shlauuighear

ORAN MHAOIS.
ECSODUS, xv. 1.— 21.

Chaidh an t-each a's am marcaich' a bhathadh 's a' chuan,
'S chaidh na h-Israelich as o'n sarachadh cruaidh ;
A's bhuadhaich lehobhah — 'sgu'n tog sinn an aird
Orau molaidh d'a Ainm-san a shaor sin o 'r cas.

'S e gairdean an Tighearn ar didean a mhain ;

'S e 'Neart-san a bhuadhaich 'sa chiosnaich ar namh ;

'S e 'n Tighearna Dia a chog air ar taobh,

'S a bhuaidhich air Pharaoh, 's ar naimhdean a sgaoil.

Chaidh a mharc-shluagh 'sa charbaid a shlugadh 'sa' chuan,
Ann an doimhneachd na fairge f huair iadsan an uaigh !
Tha do lamh-sa, lehobhah, ro ghlormhor gu h-euchd,
Co 's urrainn do bhacadh, no cogadh riut Fein !

An ndmhaid a dh'&rich a' t'aghaidh le h-uaill
Gu'n do sgap, agus bhath thu an doimhneachd a' chuain :
Mar an asbhuain le gaoith air a fuadach '« gach ait'
Rinn anail do chorruich an casgradh gu bas.

Agus Pharaoh 's a chuideachd, le 'n uaill a's le'm bosd,
'S a' mhuir tha 'n an laidhe gun phlosg a's gun deo :
Le t'Anail rinn rathad do d' phobull roi'n chuan,
'S air gach taobh dhiubh na tonnan rinn seasamh a suas.

Le bosd a's buaidh-chaithream an namhaid gu'n d' eigh,
" Leanaidh — a's beiridh — 's bheir creach dhiubh gu leir :
Mo thlachd tha 'n an sgrios, 'n an diobairt, 's 'n an ar ;
Agus ruisgidh mo chlaidheamh, a's casgraidh gach triill ! "

Sheid anail do Spioraid air aghaidh nan stuadh,

Agus shluigeadh do naimhdean an doimhneachd a' chuain ;

Chaidh iad fodha mar luaidhe 's an aigeal a slos,

'S o dhaors' a's o thrioblaid do shluagh thug thu nios.

0 ! Thighearn, lehobhah, cb 's cosmhail riut fein
'N am measg-san gu loir ris an abarar dee ?
Cu tha?n gloir a's an cumhachd co-ionnan ri Dia ?
Co dh'fhaodar a choimeas 'an tuigse r'ar Triath ?

Do lamh shin Thu mach o dhubhar an neoil,

'S 'n an laidhe 's a' chuan tha do naimhdean gun deo :

128

The nations shall hear, and, with trembling, shall ow
Almighty the Power which our foes has o'erthrown.

The arms of the valiant unnerved shall decline,
And hosts stand in motionless dread, Lord, of Thine :
The princes of Edom in terror shall quake.
The knees of thy mighty men, Moab, shall shake.

Thy sons, Palestina. droop helpless in woe,
And Canaan melt from his presence as snow :
Thou hast rescued Thy people from slavery's yoke,
Thy mercy the chain of their vassalage broke.

Thou wilt lead them triumphant through desert and sea,
To the land fixed as theirs in Thy changeless decree —
The land of long promise, where, placing Thy throne,
Thou reignest Almighty, and reignest alone !

The horse and the rider are thrown in the sea,

And Israel, escaped from her bondage, is free ;

Jehovah has conquered — to Him we wiil raise

The song that bursts forth from our hearts in His praise.

THE HOUR OF DEATH.*

Leaves have their time to fall,
And flowers to wither at the North- wind's breath,

And stars to set — but all,
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, 0, Death !

Day is for mortal care,
Eve for glad meetings round the joyous hearth,

Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer ;
But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth.

The banquet hath its hour,
Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine ;

There comes a day for grief's o'erwhelming power,
A time for softer tears— but all are thine.

Youth and the opening rose
May look like things too glorious for decay.

And smile at thee ; but thou art not of those
That wait the ripened bloom to seize their prey.

» We give on the opposite page verses composed by the Rev. A.
Clerk, Minister of Kilmallie, and evidently suggested by this well-
known Poem of Mrs Hemans, the first two verses being a transla-
tion ; hut throughout the other six verses Mr Clerk follows his

129

Nis cluinnidk na cinnich, 's air bhall-chrith bheir geill,
'S do chumhachd gun aidich bhi tharta gu leir.

Agus gairdean nan uaibhreach gu'm meataich le sgath
'N uair a chluinneas an diol th'air do naimhdean 's gach ait';
Agus criothnaichidh prionnsachan Edoim gu leir,
'S bidh treun-f heara Mhoaib fo gheilt mar an ceudn'.

Bidh raic Phalestina fo uamhan, 's fo bhron,
'S luchd-aitich' Chanaain ni leaghadh roinih d' ghloir :
Do shluagh rinn thu shaoradh o chuibhreach nan trail',
'S do thrdcair thug fuasgladh o'n amhghar 'B o 'n cradh.

Roimh 'n mhuir a's roi'n f hasaeh, ni 'n tearnadh o'n teinn,
'S bheir seilbh dhoibh 's an duthaich a runaich thu fein —
Ann am fearanu a' gheallaidh 's an rioghaich Thu 'm feasd,
Oir Dhuit-se bheir umhlachd am pobull gun cheisd.

Chaidh an t-each a's am marcaich' a bhathadh 's a' chuan1
'S chaidh na h-Israeilich as o'n sarachadh cruaidh ;
A's bhuadhaich lehobhah — 'sgu'n tog sinn an aird
Gran molaidh d'a Ainm-san a shaor sinn o'r cus.

AM BAS.

Tha am aig an duilleach 's an tuit e o'n chraoibh —
Tha am aig na blathan 's an searg iad roimh'n ghaoith— *
Tha am aig na reultan 's an gabh iad mu thamh ;
Thar gach am agus aimsir tha cumhachd a' Bhais !

Tha 'n latha gu curam 'us obair an t-saogh'il —

Tha 'm feasgar gu coinneamh, a's caidreamh luchd-gaoil—

An oidhche gu {irnuigh, 's gu tamh ami an suain ;

Tha imeachd a' bhais aig gach trath agus uair !

Tha 'n leanabh gle mhaiseach 'an urachd na sliint' —
Tha 'n treun-f hear Ian neart agus cruadail 's gach cas —
Tha 'n t-aosda gu glic, 'us gu loill ami na cheuin ;
Oige, treu'ntas, no gliocas, cha dion iad o'n eug !

Tha airgead a' ceannach mor chumhachd 'us spcis —
Tha fbghlum 'cur innleachdan neartmhor ail- ghleus —
Tha gaisgeadh thar naimhdeau a' cosnadh na buaidh ;
Beairteas, foghlum, no gaisgeadh cha ghlais iad an uaigh !

own train of thought, and puts a good finish on it, by directing
the reader 10 the Saviour, who deprived Death of his sting aiid
the Grave of its victory, and brought life and immortality to light
through the Gospel.

130

"We know when moons shall wane,
"When summer-birds from far shall cross the sea,

When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain ;
But who shall teach us when to look for thee ?

Is it when spring's first gale
Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie ?

Is it when roses in our paths grow pale ?
They have one season — all are ours to die.

Thou art where billows foam,
Thou art where music melt upon the air ;

Thou art around us in our peaceful home,
And the world calls us forth — and thou art there.

Thou art where friend meets friend,
Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest ;

Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend
The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest.

THE BEACON.*

*Twas night,— the waves were rolling black beneath the gloom of heaven,

Where fast o'erhead the floating wrack by the loud wind was driven ;

On every rock and distant creek fierce raged the whitening spray,

While one stray boat is like a speck tossed by the waves away.

The seamen's strength was well nigh spent, nor yet their port they knew,

For not a star its lustre lent unto the toiling crew :

Out then and spake a mariner — a hardy man was he,

Who 'd faced full many a wintry year the storm upon the sea.

" My trust is yet in Him who sent about my mates and me

This strong and fearful element that rageth on the sea :

My trust doth in His mercy lie who knows to guide our way,

And lead us up to heaven on high, or be on earth our stay."

In darkness, shining as he spoke far glanced a lonely beam —

From where the wave in thunder broke, bright spread its guiding gleam :

'Twas there his little daughter raised the star-like beacon light,

Above his humble home that blazed, and cheered the howling night.

'Twas there she tended it with care amid the darkness wild,

And lighted in her heart the prayer that cheered the fisher's child :

'Twas there she guarded well the flame against the wind and spray,

Until her storm-tossed father came and kissed her fears away.

* The original of these verses was composed many years ago by
the Rev John M'Leod, D.D., Minister of Morven. The English is
by no means a close translation. The following note was prefixed
to them when the)' first appeared in the " Gaelic Messenger."

" Tha Eilean Thiridhe cho iosal, chomhnard 's nach 'eil e furasd'
a thogail 's an oidhche leis ua maraichean a tha 'g iarraidh g'a

131

Tha 'm bruthair gle mhuirneach mu 'phiuthar a's caomh —
Am fear-posda mu'n mhnaoi do'n tug e a ghaol—
Tha 'mhathair ro ghaolach mu aon mhac a graidh ;
Gradh brathar, no mathar, cha saor sinn o'n bhas !

O ! 's namhaid gun tioma, gun tr6cair am Bas —
Tha 'imeachd 'measg fola, 'us truaighe gach 12l —
Cha chuir deoir, 's cha chuir osua aon stad air a cheum ;
Rinn e 'n saoghal so uile ro dhubhach — Ian dheur !

Ach moladh a's cliii do ghaisgeach an aigh ;

'Thug buaidh air an uaigh — 'thug an gath as a' bhas :

'S a choisinn do dhaoine sior-bheatha Ian gloir,

'S nach bi tinneas, no doilgheas, no amhghar, no bron.

'losa, Mhic Dhe! 's tu aoibhneas mo sliul !
Ri d' ghradh, a's ri d' chomhnadh do ghnath bi'dh mo dhuil
O ! saor mi o'n pheacadh 'thug neart do an Bhas,
Lan-naomh dean mo thaisbein' 'n lathair Athair nan gras.

IUL AN EILEANAICH.
Bha ghrian 's i air luidhe fo smal a's fo ghruaim,
Agus cuautan a' beuchdaich le gairich nan stuadh ;
Ach tha'n t-eithear gu treun ris a* ghaillinn a' strith —
Ag iarraidh gun luasgan gu cala na sith.

Bha dubh-neoil nan doinionn a' siubhal nan speur,
A's fearann no fasgadh do'n sgiobadh cha leur ;
Ach gun mheatachd, gun imcheist air cridhe nan sonn,
Shior ghleidh iad an gabhail air Eilean nan tonn.

Deir am maraiche aosda a sliuidh air an ailm,
" Na striochdadh mo ghiUean fo uabhar na stoirm !
Biodh 'ur n-earbsa gu daingean 'an ard Righ nan dul,
Oir dheonaich a mhaitheas na bheir soills' agus iul."

Agus feuch ! mar a labhair, air carraig nan stuadh,
Suas dh'eirich le 'dhearsadh ard lochran nam buadh ;
'S an deur nach do dh'f hdisgeadh le gkbhadh o 'shuil,
Shil an t-athair 'uuair thuirt e, " Leanabh mo ruin! "

'S bha 'leanabh cho sona 's bu mhiannach le 'chri

'N uair a chunnaic i 'n t-eithear an cala na sith ;

'S O ! b' aoibhneach a choinneamh 'n uair rainig e 'n traigh,

'S :i thuirt i le aiteas,— "O ! athair mo ghraidh! "

ionnsuidh. Tha e 'na chleachdadh cumanta, uime sin, aig muiun-
tir an eilein, 'n uair a tha cairdean a mach air a' chuan agus dull
riutha, teine 'lasadh air i\it' uraid air an dean am rnaraich' a ghabh-
ail. \S ioroad buta agus sgiobadh a thearnadh leis a' chleachdadh
chairdcil, bhaigheil so. 'Se fhaireachadh so a thug air ar caraid
au Dun a leanas a sgriobhadh."

132

ZION COMFORTED.

O Zion ! afflicted with wave upon wave,
Whom no man can comfort, whom no man can save ;
With darkness surrounded, by terrors dismayed,
In toiling and rowing thy strength is decayed.

Loud roaring, the billows would thee overwhelm,
But skilful 's the Pilot that sits at the helm ;
His wisdom, his power, and his faithfulness stand
Engaged to conduct thee in safety to land.

" 0 fearful ! and faithless (in mercy He cries)
My promise, my truth are they slight in thine ©yes ?
Still, still I am with thee, and faithful to keep,
Though seeming amid the rough tempest to sleep.

" Forget thee! I will not, I cannot forget
What Calvary witnessed to cancel thy debt ;
On the palms of my hands while looking I see
The wounds I received in suffering for thee.

" I feel at my heart all thy sighs and thy groans,
For thou art akin to my flesh and my bones ;
In all thy distresses thy head feels the pain,
Yet all is most needful, not one is in vain."

O Saviour ! we trust thee our life to secure,
Thy wisdom is perfect, supreme is thy power ;
In love thou correctest, our souls to refine,
To make us at length in thy likeness to shine.

The foolish, the fearful, the weak are thy care,
The helpless, the hopeless, thou hearest their prayer ;
From all our afflictions thy glory shall spring,
The deeper our sorrows the louder we'll sing.

CHRIST STILLING THE TEMPEST.

The golden shades of evening rest
Upon Tiberias' glassy breast ;
No rippling waves disturb the sea,
For all is bright serenity.

But soon the sky is overcast,

Dark threatening clouds drive swiftly past ;

The wind is up — the billows roar,

And wreak their fury on the shore.

133

COMHFHURTACHD DO SHION.

Oigh Shioin ! fo amhghar, fo anradh, 's fo bhrbn,
'S gun neach ann bheir tearnadh o d' ghabhadh a'd' choir ;
Air do chuartach' le trioblaid, 's le deuchainnean geur,
Ann an gleachd 's ann an cradh gu'n d' f hailnich thu fein.

Tha na tonnan a' beucaich, 's a' bagairt bhi garbh,
Ach 'seolach an Sgiobair a shuidh air an ailm ;
Tha 'ghliocas, 's a chumhachd, 's a dhillseachd gu sior
A' gealltuinu gu'n toir e thu tearuint' gu tir.

" Na bi'-sa fo eagal, (tha losa ag radh,)
Mo ghealladh tha seasmhach, 's cha'n f hfdlnich gn brdch ;
A ghnath tha mi 'd' chuideachd gu d' chumail a suas,
Ged a shaoil thu gu'm bheil mi gun suim dhiot no truas.

" Cha di-chui'nich mi thusa, cha'n urrainn gu brach
Mi dhearmad na dh'f huiling air a' chrann air do sgath ;
Air dearnaibh mo lamh 'n uair a sheallas mi chi
JSTa lotan a fhuair an- do shon anns an stri.

Mo chridhe tha craiteach mu d' amhghar, 's mu d' leon,
Oir thusa tha 'n cairdeas do m' chnamhan, 's do m' fhebil ;
Anns gach trioblaid a thig ort gu'm fairich mi pein,
Ach tha iad gu buannachd a's feumail duit fein."

Ar beatha, a Shlan'ir, tha tearuint' fo d' sgail,
A'd' ghliocas, 's a'd' chumhachd gu'n earb sinn gu brach ;
Ann an gradh bheh* thu oilean, gu ar miannan a chlaoidh,
Chum fa-dheoidh ann a'd' choltas gu'm bi sinn a chaoidh.

Am baoth, a's an gealtach gheibh tearmunn fo d' sgail,
'S gheibh an neach tha gun dochas a's aumhunn uait baigh ;
O ar trioblaid 's o'r d61as gu'm faigh thusa gloir,
Oir o dhoimhne ar dorainn gu'n tog sinn duit ceol.

CRIOSD A' CIUINBACHADH NA FAIRGB.

Bu tosdach an fhairge 'n uair a rainig a' ghrian
Gu greadhnach a paUinn, 'tha ghnath anns an iar —
Bha gean agus aoibhneas air aogus gach ni,
A's oiteag na h-oidhche a' sioladh gun chll.

Bha ciar-bhrat an anamoich air sgaoileadh mu'n cuairt —
A' comhdach nan garbhlach, nan gleann, a's nan cruach ;
Ach 's carach na sionntan, 's is meallta a' ghaoth —
Mar shubhachais dhiomhain, 's mar sholasan baoth,

Tha ailleachd ua h-iarmailt air caochladh gu gruaim,
'S na neoil a bha ciallach, 'n an still 'ruith gu luath ;

134

Scared by the surge the sea-fowl fly
In wild confusion through the sky;
Upon the deep a vessel's form
Is seen amidst the thickening storm*

Struggling, she rolls from side to side,
And hounds across the "bursting tide ;
The shredded canvas bends the mast,
Each moment seems the vessel's last '

Within that bark the storm defies,
The Son of God, incarnate lies ;
Wrapt in the arms of sound repose,
Oblivion hides his earthly woes.

The billows foam and rage arround,
But still he rests in sleep profound ;
At last a cry salutes his ear,
A cry of mingled hope and fear.

A cry for help, at once 'tis heard—-
Such cries he ne'er can disregard ; '
Calmly he rose and whispered ' Peace,
Ye winds and raging billows cease."

The conscious elements obey,
And own at once their Maker's sway ;
The tempest's voice is heard no more,
And soon the bark has reached the shore

While joy and wonder fill each breast
Which fear so lately had possessed ;
Just so it is with those who tread,
In faith, life's path with sorrows spread.

When cherished hopes fade and decay,
Like frost-nipt flowers in early May •
And when affliction's billows roll
In swift succession o'er my soul,

When fears and doubts distract the mind,
No comfort can the Christian find ;
He prays, God hears, and light is given,
Which shows the wise designs of Heaven

135

'N sin fairge Ghenasaret dh'eirich gu borb —
Gu h-uaibhreach, atmhor, le ainneart na stoirm.

Bba doilleireachd chianail a mach air a' chuan, —
'S toin-adhair gu h-iargalt' a' soillseach' nan stuadh,
Air eunlaith na mara gu leir a' cur sgkth,
'S iad 'teicheadh le cabhaig gu fasgadh na tragh'.

Aon eithear gu sgairteil a' gleachd a's a' stritk —
Ri ard-thonnaibh sgaitoach is confhaiche litb ;
'Tha 'bristeadh a steach oirr' na mill nach 'eil faoin,
'S a' fasgadh a h-aisnibh le claidein, 's le saoth'ir.

Geb'eolach an sgiobadh air anradh 'sair spairn,
Lion uamhann an cridhe, a's mheataich an cail
Aig faicinn nan tonnan a' buadh'chadh 'an neart,
?S a' bagairt gu lonaeh an slugadh mar chreach.

'An deireadh na luinge bha losa 'na sbuain,
Gun eagal, gun ghiorag 'an eudan an Uain ;
Bu shamhach a cbadal, a's b' f hmealt a ghnuis
'N uair thdinig le cabhaig an sgiobadh g'a dhusg'.

Le oillt air an spiorad, a's buaireas 'n an gruaidh : —

" Foir oirnne (a deir iad), fbir oirune gu luath."

Chios gairich na gaillinn, 's a nuallanaich shearbh,

'N uair a chual' i a smachd-ghuth, " Bi ciuin, a's bi balbh,"

A' ghaoth 'bha air mhire a nis tha fo chis —
An fhairge 'bha 'milleadh a nis tha aig sith :
Fo cheanusal an Ti sin 'tha 'cuartach' na ghlaic
Na gaoith 'n uair is treis' i, 'sga cumail fo smachd.

Mar so anns gach amhghar tha'n Slanuighear dluth —
'N uair dh'eighear gu h-ard ris tha blathas 'na shuil ;
Le 'chumhachd 's le 'throcaii1 ui Treun-f hear nam buadh
Lan didein a dheonach' gu grasmhor d'a shluagh.

'An turas na beatha tha dosguinn gu leoir,
Air beanntan 's trie ceathach, air athar 's trie neoil
A tha 'folach gu doilleir glan imeachd na greiu',
'S a' bacadh an eilthirich siubhal gu reidh.

Mar sin tha gach deuchainn 'an saoghal nan deur
'Chum an seann-duin? a phianadh 's a chlaoidheadh gu geur,
Gus am fas e 'na naoidhean — "na nuadh-dhuin' 'an Criosd,
A's an gluais e le h-aoibhneas 'an slighe ua sith.

Ach an amhuinn ged 's teinnteach, 'sged 's nuallach an cuau,
Tha 'n Slanuighear cinuteach d'a ghealladh gach uair, —
'"N uair theid thu troi' thuiltean cha'u fholaich iad thu,
'S na lasraichean guineach cha dochainn, 's cha chiurr."

136

He sees that all is done in love,
To raise his heart and thought above ;
Where sin and care no more annoy,
But all is pure and lasting joy.

PAUL'S VOYAGE.
If Paul in Csesar's court must stand,

He need not fear the sea ;
Secured from harm on every hand

By the divine decree.

Although the ship in which he sailed,
By dreadful storms was tossed ;

The promise over all prevailed,
And none of them were lost.

Jesus, the God whom Paul adored,

Who saves in time of need ;
"Was then confessed by all on board,

A present help indeed/

Though neither sun nor stars were seen,
Paul knew the Lord was near ;

And faith preserved his soul serene,
"When others shook for fear.

Believers thus are tossed about,

On life's tempestuous main ;
But grace assures, beyond a doubt,

They shall their port attain.

They must — they shall appear one day,
Before their Saviour's throne ;

The storms they meet with by the way,
But make his power known.

Their passage lies across the brink,
Of many a threatening wave ;

The world expects to see them sink,
But Jesus lives to save.

Lord, though we are but feeble worms,

Yet since thy word is past,
We '11 venture through a thousand storms,

To see thy face at last.

137

\S 'n uair thig thu gu bruachaibh lordain a' blidifl,
A's tonnan a' cuartachadh t'anama le gkir,
Chi thu uabhar an t-srutha ag aomadh air falbh
A<* duinntinn a' ghutha, tf Bi ciuin, a's bi balbh."

TURUS-CUAIN PHOIL.

M'as eiginn gu'n teid Pol do'n Roimh,
Cha'n aobhar oillt dha'n cuan ;

Oir tha e tearuint' air gach laimh
Le ordugh Dhe nach gluais.

Ged chaidh an long 'san robh e 'luasg'
'S an doininn chruaidh a bh' ann ;

An gealladh thar gach ni thug buaidh,
'S cha deachaidh h-aon a chall.

losa ! an Dia d'am buineadh Pol,
A dh'fhuasglas anns gach cruas ;

Dh' aidich gach aon a bha air bord
Mar chobhair dheas 'san uair.

Ged nach robh 'ghrian no reultan ris

Bha earbsa Phoil 'an Dia ;
'S ghleidh creideamh 'anarn ciiiin gun sgath,

'Nuair chrithich each le fiamh.

Na naoimh mar so tha air an luasg'

Air chuan na beatha bhos ;
Ach gras tha 'deanamh cinnteach dhoibh

Gu'n ruig iad caladh fois.

Tha 'n latha Highinn anns an seas

lad uil' aig cathair Chriosd ;
'S bidh 'n stoirm a th'aca 'ieigeil ris

A chumhachd mor g'an dion.

'N an cuairt a' dol roimh'n bheatha so

Bidh aca iomadh cradh ;
Tha'n saogh'l an duil gu'n teid an call,

Ach gleidhidh los' iad slan.

A Dhe, ged 's cnuimhean sinn tha faoin,
Tha d' f hocal naomh air doigh ;

'S theid sinn roimh mhile stoirm a chum
Gu'n ruig sinn thu fa-dheoidh.

138

MACKRIMMON'S LAMENT-*

Macleod'e wizard flag from the grey castle sallies,
The rowers are seated, unmoored are the galleys ;
Gleam war-axe and broad- sword, clang target and quiver,
As Mackrimmon plays, " Farewell to Dunvegan forever! "

" Farewell to each cliff, on which breakers are foaming ;
Farewell each dark glen in which red deer are roaming ;
Farewell lonely Skye, to lake, mountain, and river ;
Macleod may return, but Mackrimmon shall never !

" Farewell the bright clouds that on Culen are sleeping ;
Farewell the bright eyes in the Fort that are weeping ;
To each minstrel delusion farewell ! and forever —
Mackrimmon departs to return to you never.

•' The Banshee's wild voice sings the death-dirge before me,
And the pall of the dead for a mantle hangs o'er me ;
But my heart shall not flag, and my nerve shall not quiver,
Though devoted I go — to return again never ! "

Too oft shall the note of Mackrimmon's bewailing
Be heard when the Gael on their exile are sailing : —
" Dear land ! to the shores, whence unwilling we sever,
Return — return — return we shall never ! "

* Mackrimmon, hereditary piper to the Laird of Macleod, is said
to have composed this Lament when the Clan was about to em-
bark to join the Royalists in 1745. The Minstrel was impressed
with a belief, which the event verified, that he would never return.
These verses are well-known throughout the Highlands, being the
strains with which the emigrants, for Canada and Australia, often
take leave of their native shore; they have also been the coronach
which accompanyed the remains of many a brave Highlander, in
bygone ages, to their last resting place. Sir Walter Scott was so
moved by the overwhelming pathos of these verses in the original,
that he executed the above translation. Dr M'Leodof St. Columba
vjave another version of this Lament, or rather the response to it,
in the "Mountain Visitor," and introduced it by a thrilling note —
the note and version are as follow. —

'N uair a chaidh MacLeoid Dhunbheagain a mach bliadhna-
Thearlaich leis an arm dhearg, bha 'chuid bu lionmhoire do'n
chinneadh 'nan cridheachan le Tearlach, agus n'am b'urrainn iad
*s esan a leanadh iad. B'ann 'san run so bha Donull Bun Mae-
ruimein. Mu'n d'fhug iad an Dun thuirt Macruirnein gu'n robh
fios aige nach tilleadh e; agus an latha thog na Lebdaich orra
macho Dhunbheagain, agus mnathan na tire a' gul 'sa'caoidh,
'sann an sin a chluich e am port tiamhaidh,brbnach sin," Chatill
mi tuille," agus b' f hior mar a thubhairt e : anns a' cheud bhlar a
chiii readh thuit e, agus cha do mharbhadh duin' ach e fein. Bha

139

CUMHA MHICRUIMBIN.

Bratach bhuadhail Mhicleoid o'n tiir mhor a' lasadh,

'S luchd-iomraidh nan ramh 'greasadh bharc thar a' ghlas chuain ;

Bogha, sgiath, 's claidheamh-mur, 's tuagh gu lebn, airm nam

fleusgach.
'•ruimein 'cluith cuairt, " Soraidh bhuan le Dunbheagain,"

Slan leis gach creag ard ris 'm bheil gairich ard-thonnan ;
Slan leis gach gleann fas 's an dean crachd-dhaimh an langan ;
Eilein Sgiathanaich aigh ! slan le d' bheanntan 's guirm' fireach ;
Tillidh, dh'fhaoidte, Macleoid, ach cha bheo Macruimein !

" Soraidh bhuan do'n gheal-cheo a tha 'comhdachadh Chuilinn !
Slan leis gach blith shuil 'th'air an Dun, 's iad a' tiiireadh ;
Soraidh-bhuan do'n luchd-ciuil 's trie chuir sunnd orm a's tioma ;
Sheol Macruimein thar sail' 'sgu la bhrath cha till tuille!

'•Nualan allt' ua piob-mhor 'cluiche marbh-rann an fhilidh,
Aijiis dearbh-bhrat a* bhais mar fhalluing aig' uime;
Ach cha mheataich mo chridh', a's cha ragaich mo chuislean,
Ged dh'f halbham le m' dheoin 's fios nach till mi chaoidh tuiUo ! "

'S trie a chluinnear fuaim bhinn, caoidh thiom-chri' Mhicruimein,
'N uair bhios Gaidheil a' ialbh, thar na fairge 'g an iomain : —
" O ! chaomh thir ar graidh, o do thraigh 's rag ar n-imeachd,
Och ! cha till— cha till— Och ! cha till sinn tuille ! "

leannan aig Donull Ban 's an Dun, 's 'n uair a chual i 'm port chuir
i na ran nan a leanas r'a cheile:—

Dh'iadh ceo nan stuchd mu aodann Chuilinn,
A's sheinn a' Bhean-shlth a torman mulaid :
Tha suilean gorm, ciuin 's an Dun a' sileadh,
O n' thriall tlm uainn 's nach till thu tuille.

Cha till, cha till, cha till Macruimein,

'An cogadh no'n situ cha till e tuille ;

Le airgiod no m cha till Macruimein,

Cha till gu bruch gu la na cruinne.
Tlia osag nam beann gu fann ag imeachd,
(inch sruthan 's gach allt gu mall lebruthach;
Tha ialt' nan speur feadh gheugan dubhach,
A' caoidh gu'n d' fhalbh 'snach till thu tuille.
Tha'n f hairge fa-dheoidh lun brbin a's mnlaid,
Tha 'in bata fo 'seol ach dhiiilt i siubhal ;
Tim ^uir mm tonn,le i'uam neo-shubhach,
Ag rudh gu'u d' fhalbh 's nach till thu tuille.
Cha chluinnear do cbeol 'san Dun mu fheasgar,
'S maetalla nara miir le muirn 'ga freagairt:
(iach fleasgach a's oigh gun cheol, gun bheadradh,
O'n thriall thu uaiun -snach till thu tuille.

140

A DREAM.— FRAGMENT.

I slept, and lo ! a fold where sheep were penned,
Safe and secure, beneath the Shepherd's eye.
Methought myself a strayed and wandering lamb,
Who wished to enter in ; — but could not find
A gap, or broken place, o'er which to climb ;
And round and round I looked and toiled in vain.

When in the midst of this, my fruitless plan
To gain an entrance by a way not right,
I heard a lion roar ; his voice was harsh
And awful to mine ear ; and well I knew
That I were his, unless I could enfold
Myself among those safe and ransomed sheep.

I called for help : my feeble strength then tried
To break the barrier down — but all in vain.
My breath came thick — when, in the east, appeared
A star, like that of old at Bethlehem.
My eye was dim with tears — I could not look on high,

A change occurred : and now I saw a door,
And heard a voice that said, " I am the Way,
The Truth, the Life, Oh! fly to me and live."
I tried to run, and failed ; my feet seemed tied,
I could not move, but sobbed and cried aloud : —
" Draw me, and then I can run after Thee,
My Lord, my God." — And so He did, and took
Me through the open door which none can close.
And then the lion's roar I feared not ;
For safe within the Everlasting arms
I knew my soul secure.

| For the present we bring these translations to a close, trusting
that what has been given in the preceding pages will prove
beneficial to our countrymen. We will now introduce our
Celtic readers to a few pieces of original Gaelic poetry. We
expected to have been enabled to give English translations of
some of these pieces ; but failing to accomph'sh this in time
we present them as they are. The first four of these are by
the Rev. J. M'Leod, D.D., Minister of Morven.]

141

BHUADAR.

Air cadal domh, feuch ! mainnir 's au robh cruinn
Gu tearuint' treud, fo shuil a' Chiobair chaoiuih.
Air leam gun robh mi fe"m mar uan air chall —
A' miannachadh 'bhi steach ; ach beam air bith
No toll cha/n fhaca mi tre 'in faighinn suas,
Ged sheall mi air gach taobh niu'n cuairt gu dluth.

Am feadh a bha mi ann an cas ro-chruaidh,
Ag iarraidh dol a steach air doigh neo-cheart,
Chuala mi leomhan beucach, le 'ghuth garg
'Bha uamhasach do m' chluais : 's bha t'hios 'am fos
Gu'n reubadh mi gun dail, mar faighinn dion
Am measg nan caorach saorta 'bha 's a' chro.
Air cobhair dh'eigh, 'smo neart ro-fhaun gu?n d' chleachd
Gu tilgeadh BIOS gach bacadh — ach'gu faoiu.
Ach feuch ! 's an ear chunnacas rionnag aigh,
Coltach ri Reul-iuil Bhetleheim o .chiaii.

Ach thainig caochladh, 's dorus chunnaic mi,
A's chuala guth ag radh, " Is mis' an t-Slighu,
'N Fhirinn, a's a' Bheatha fos, do m' ionnsuidh teich,
JS mair beo." Dh'fheuch mi ri ruith, 's cha b' urra' mi ;
Ion 's air mo cheangal cha do ghluais mi ceum.
Ach ghlaodh le osnaich ghoirt, " Tarruing, 's ruithidh
Mi an sin a'd' dheigh, mo Thriath, 's mo Dhia."
A's rinn mar sin, Js troimh 'n dorus f hosgailte
Nach duin aon neach, mi steach gu'n tug.
A's beuc an leomhain ghairg cha chuir orm sgath ;
Oh- tearuinte, fo dhion a' ghkirdeiu Threin,
Bidh mi gun eagal, no gun f hiamh gu sior.

EARBSA ANN AN DIA.
" Gu ruige so chuidich an Tighearna leinn." — 1 Sain. vii. li>.

Tha mo thuras roimh'n fhasach a nis gu bhi reidh,
Thainig feasgar mo laithean a's deireadh mo re ;
Ach aidichidh mi leis gach taiugealachd crulli',
An f had so, a Dhia, gu'n do chuidich thu mi.

142

"S trie a shearg mi fo euslaint 's a ghuil mi fo bhron,
5S trie a ghluais mi gu deurach gun eideadh, gun Ion ;
Ach dh'earb mi a Dia anns gach deuchainn a's dith,
'S an fhad so, a Thighearna, chuidich thu mi.

:S ioma caraid bu chaomh learn a dhiobair, 's a threig,
'S ioma dochas a b'ait learn a mheall mi le 'cheilg ;
Ach do chairdeas-sa sheas anns gach doilgheas a's strith,
'S an fhad so, a Thighearua, chuidich thu mi.

Agus seallaidh mi romham, a's gabhaidh mi beachd
Air gach deuchainn a's anradh tha fathast ri teachd ;
Ach ra'anam fo gheilt no fo imcheist cha bhi ;
Oir an Dia nach do dhiobair, cha diobair e mi.

LAOIDH,

Ri doille na h-oidhche, 's mi 'g eisdeachd na stoirm,
A' nuallan mu'n cuairt domh ! bu ghabhaidh a toirm,
Nochd mise do'n Tighearn gach taingealachd cridh',
Gun do cheadaich e dhomhsa fasgadh a's sith.

Ach a' fuadach a mach mo smuainteanan uam,
Cia lionmhor iad, deir mi, tha nochd air a' chuan ;
Gu faontrach truagh air an udal fo anradh
Gun reull a' toirt soillse 's gun challa g'an tearnadh.

0 ! b' ait learn nam b' urrainn domh lochran na soillse,
A dhearsadh fa'n comhair ri dubhar na h-oidbche ;
'S gach maraich' th' air faontra, gu h-airsneulach, sgith,
A thaladh gu tearuint' do challa na sith.

Ach innis dhomh, 'chreid'ich, an d' fhairich thu riamh
An tearuinteachd sheasgair o chorruich do Dhia !
Ann an tuiltibh na feirge, — 's tu'n impis bhi baite,
And' f huair thusa fasgadh o charraig na slainte ?

'S an e nach seall thu a nis, le fadal do chridh',
Air na miltibh tha f hathast fo ainneart a' strith ;
Air seacharan san doille, 's an doinionn a' barcadh,
Gun leirsinn air cunnart — 's gun iul chum an tearnadh.

O ! mosgail a chreid'ich, 's le dealas a'd' ghruaidh,
Thoir iul do gach peacach th' air seachran gu truagh ;
O ! mosgail, 's le d' ghniomhar' a' dealradh mar ghrein,
Seol da-san an t-sligh' air an imich e fein.

Bidh do dhuais anns an t-saoghal so saibhir a's pailt,
Ma theanias tu'n t-anam tha 'n impis bhi caillt' ;
5S bheir e binneas do d' chaithream aig deas laimh do Righ
Gur leur dhuit e sonadh ann an rioghachd na sith.

143

LAOIDH.

Ki aileachd a' Cheitein tha'n saoghal gu leir
A' cur maitheas an Tighearn gu h-eibhinn an ceill,
Tha na tuiltcan, 's na cuantan, na coilltean 's na glinn,
Gun airsneul a' seinn da le co'-sheirm bhinn.

Ged chuala' mi chaithream cha do thog mi am fonn,
Arh dh'imich mi romham gu neo-shunntach, trom,
Gun urram gun ghradh, 's gun fhiughantachd cridh
Do 'n Dia sin a chdmhdaich le ailleachd gach ni.

Ach'thainig an geamhradh gu tartarra doirbh —
Theirinn an doinionn, a's dh'eirich an stoirm ;
A's theich mi gu h-anf hann a t-ionnsuidh-sa 'Dhe,
Ag iarraidh ort fasgadh fo sgaile do sgeith.

Thainig geamhradh mo bheatha gu h-aoidheil 's gu guanach,
A's dh'imich mi romham, gach ni mar bu mhiannach ;
A' mealtuinn gach sochair, a's saor o gach dolas,
Ach fathast 's an Tighearn cha d' rinn mise solas.

Ach feuch ! thainig caochiadh a bhroin air mo characu
Thainig le m' gheamhradh gach deuchainn a's anradh
A's ghluais mi gu silteach fo iargain 's fo bhron,
Gun chobhair, gun chomhnadh, gun eideadh, gun Ion.

Shiubhail mi'n saoghal gu h-airsneulach, sgith ;
Ach tha faoineachd a's diomhanas sgriobht' air gach m •
A s air uachdar an domhain cha d' f huair mi cul-taic', 4
Gus 'n do thill mi ri Dia, mar an caiman do'n Airc.

C'AIT' AM BHEIL TRUAIGHE?

Tha gach sligh' air an gluais sinn an taobh so do'n uaigh,
Air ;i h-iathadh mu'n cuairt leis gach deuchainn ro-chruaidh
Ach ged tha air gach laimh ioraa doilghios, a's dolas ;
Cha'n'eil anns an t-saoghal so truaighe gun dochas.

An diobarach is laige, cha'n'eil e gun taic,

Ris an earb' e lo misnich 'na amhghar 's 'na airc :

Tha milse r'a f haotainn 'sa chupan is seirbhe,

'S tha reult a' toirt soillse anns an oidhche is dou-bhe."*

Chunna mi 'm peacach 'na airsneul 's na sgios,
Fo uallach na h-aing'eachd air aomadh a sios ;
Ach bha Grian ait an dochais na gloir os a cheann
A' dearsadh roi' dheuraibh, gu h-aoidheil 's gu ciuir»

144

Chunna mi'n t-euslaint fo iargain 'ga chlaoidh,
Bu chianail a charadh, 's bu deis'neach a chaoidh ;
Ach bha misneach san t-suil a chinn lag-sheallach fann,
'S bha fiughair na slainte mar adhart fo 'cheann.

Chunna mi 'bhanntrach, 's i sinnt' air an uaigh,
Bha na deuran gu frasach a' sileadh o 'gruaidh ;
'S i gun chobhair, gun taic' ach na dilleachdain mhaoth
'Bha tuireadh gu leanabail, 's iad sinnte r'a taobh.

Ach rinn ise bun anns gach gealltannas graidh,
Agus sheall i le aiteas air maduinn an aigh,
Anns an siabar gach deur, 's an leigh'jsear gach cridh' ;
;S anns an coinnich luchd-daimh ann an aros na sith.

Ajrus shiubhail mi 'm smuaintibh an saoghal gu leir,
Troi'n f hasach bu duaichnidh, 's troi' ghleannaibh nan deur
Ach bha dochas 's gach ionad toirt misneach 's gach cas,
Mar tha 'ghrian anns gach ionad toirt soills' agus blath's.

Ach chi mi a' tighinn ard latha na soillse,

An latha nach tionndaidh gu feasgar no oidhche ;

Tha dochas an f hirean air tionndadh gu buaidh,

Tha 'n t-aingidh gun dochas — Feuch ! iomlan, no truagh,

AN GAIDHEAL
Ann an Tir cliein air Oidhche Choinnle.

Is tiamhaidh, trom mo chridhe 'nochd,
'S mi 'm aonaran bochd learn fein ;
tjha 'n iarr mi tamh, cha 'n fhaigh mi lochd
Is mi fo sprochd an duthaich chein.

'S iomad cuimhne, thursach, throm
Tha dusgadh fonn a' bhroin a'm' uchd ;
'S e thog an osnadh ann a'm' chom
Nach 'eil mi'n Tir-nam-Beann a nochd.

Tha Tir-nam-Beann mar bha i riamh —
Gach gleann a's sliabh, a's creag nam faobh ;
An creachan ard 's am bi am fiadh,
'S an leacann liath tha slos o 'thaobh.

Tha gach allt a' leum le toirm
O chreig gu creag a sios gu traigh ;
Tha barr an fhraoich bhadanaich ghuh'm
Gu trom dosrach mar a bha.

Ach c'ait' am bheil na cairdean graidh
D'an tug mi baigh an laithean m' oig ?

145

\S e f ath mo mhulaid a's mo chrtiidh

A mheud 'sa tha dhiubh 'nochd fo'n f hold.

M' athair-sa, cha 'n 'eil e beo,

Mo mhathair chaomh cha 'n 'eil i aim :

Dh' f halbh mo cho-aoisean mar cheo,

A dh' f huadaichear le gaoth nam beann.

Slan le comunn caomh mo ghaoil !

"Chuireadh faoilt 'am chridhe bochd ;

f ha 'n 'eil iad air uachdar an t-sao'il

"Dheanadh aobhach mis' an nochd.

Ach tha iad beo an duthaich chein —

Tir na gre"in', gun oidhch' a choidhch' ;

Coinn'chidh sinn fathast a cheil'

Gun suil fo dheur, gun chridh' a' caoidh.

Tha al a' falbh, a's al a' teachd,

]\lar shlachdaireachd nantonn air traigh:

Arbliadhnachan, tha iad gu beachd,

Mar sgeulachd, dhiomhain, ghearr gun stath.

Gloir do Shlan'ear caomh nam buadh,

A thug a nuas o thir an aigh

Sgeul an aoibhneis do'n t-sluagh,

Beatha bhuan nach mill am bas.

Choisinn e 'bheatha so gu daor,

As a thaobh gu'n d' thaom an f huil ;

Ach 0 ! cia grasmhor, fialaidh, saor,

Do'n chinne-daonn' a h-agh, 'sa buil.

C 'arson a bhithinn bronach, bochd,

A' caoidh fo sprochd an so learn fein ;

Do shuil, a Dhe,tha orms' a nochd,

Fo dheoruidheachd an duthaich chein.

Cha bhi mi 'caoidh, cha toir mi ceill —

Fo thaic' do sgeith gu'n iarr mi tamh ;

Do d' thoil-sa, Thighearn. bheirinn geill —

GA m' striochdadh fein a choidhch' fo d' ttimh.

[The first four pieces following are from the pen of the Rev Dun-
<-nn M'Lean of Glenorchy, who wrote in the " Gaelic Messen-
1 under the signature of " Fior Ghael." Mr M'Lean pre-
lerred always to compose original poetry to translating.

FASACHADH NA GAELTACHD.

'S inmad caochladh a's mughadh, gun suil riu no fiughair,
- \ thachair 'n ar dutbaich, mo dhiiibhail ! cho liugha ;

146

'S iomadh cleachd' a chaidh seachad gun cho math thigh 'nn na
'S iomadh dubhailc a chinnich, a's subhailc a bhasaich. [aite,

Bha 'tuinneach' 'sna beanntaibh, can am a's nan al so,
Beusan giulain, a's cainnte gun taing a bha iiluinn ;
Bha snaom ann, 's bu chruaidh i, mo thruaigh ! 'sgun i 'n tras-
'Ceangal islean a's uaislean an suairceas 'san cairdeas. [ann,

Bha 'bhochduinn neo-sgathach 'an lathair na morchuis,
Bha'n uaisle gun ardan, a's baigheil do'n deoraidh ;
Bha aoidheachd, a's fialachd, a's biatachd gun soradh ;
"N an gleannanaibh riabhach, bu chiataiche comhdach.

Bu chiatach a' chpisridh 'bha chomhnuidh 's na beanntaibh,
Siol fior-ghlan, gun fhotus, ged dh'f hogradh gun taing iad ;
O'n gleannanaibh boidheach gu comhnard na Galltachd,
'G am fogradh thar chuantan, mo chruadai] ! b'e'n t-ainneart.

Dh'fhas a* GhaePtachd 'na fasach, gun aiteach, gun tuath-
]\lar lion iad 'nan aite an t-aireach 's am buachall, [cheatharn,
Tha 'ur n-ionada'-tamba 'bu laine, 'sbu chuanda,
Gun mhire, gun mhknran, — 'n an laraichean uaine.

An oige mar shealladh gun mhealladh 'se firinn,
'N am duEgadh 's a' mhaduinn b'e'n tlachd 'san toil-inntinn
Bhi 'faicinn 's gach gleannan, 's gach lagan bu diomhair',
Mo luchd-gaoil, agus comuinn a thogadh mo chridh' dhomh.

Ged dhirich mi 'n trath so gu airidh nan beanntaibh,
Cha chluinn mi 'ur blath-ghuth, cha'n f hailtich sibh ann mi :
Cha'n fhaic mi caomh aogasg mo ghaoiltichean annta,
'S ann dh'f hogradh, gun aobhar, gu saoghal nan crann iad.

CEOL.

'S binn caoirean nan caoehan 'an aonach nam beann,
'N uair tha'n latha a' sgaoileadh air aodan nan gleann ;
'S binn osna na gaoithe, 's gur aobhach a toirm
Air ciiiineach' do 'n doininn, 's air cadal do'n stoirm.

'S binn co'-sheirm na coille, nan doire, 's nan stuchd,

'S ro bhlasda an ceol e 's an og mhadninn dhruchd :

O ! 's taitneach r'a chluinntinu geuin laoigh tigh'nn o'n chn%

'S binn gairich na tuinne, a's bairich nam bo.

'S binn naigheachd air caraid chaidh fada air chuairt,
'S cha seirbhe guth leannain dh'f has banail a's suairc';
'8 ro bhlasda guth mathar, Ian bla'is agus gaoil —
Marcheol iad each aluinn, nach cairdeil, nach caoin?

147

Ach tha ceol ann is uaislo 'na bhuadhaibh gu mor,
'S tha fuaim ann is binne, 's is grinn' air gach doigh ;
Tha poncan is mils' ann, uach diobair gu sior,
Na gach ceol 'rinu thu solasach 'u oir no an iar.

Nach milis mar cheol e, nach boidheach, nach binn —
Guth chlag mhaduinn Dhdmhnuich, nach sonraichte grinn ?
Na fuinn tha ro aluinn 'tha failtoach' an 16
A bheannaich an t-Ard-Righ gu slamte nan slogh.

Nach binn a' chruit-chiuil ud, nach runach gach ial,
An cridhe trom, bruite ag iirnuigh ri Dia ?
Nach taitneacii mar cheol e, nach boidheach, 's nach caoin
Guth 'mholaidh, a sholais, a dhdchais, a ghaoil ?

DO'N BHOGHA FHROIS.

A Bhogha aluinn, ghrasmhoir, orbhuidh,
Urrais aird air slaiut' a's comlmadh,
Biodh t'fhianah ghair ort an comlmuidh—
Seall 'an gradh orm ri uchd doruinn.

'N uau* a reubas stoirm an t-athar,

A' cur nan dun" air inhire-chatha,

'N uair 'luidheas oidhch' ah- uchd an latha,

Faiceam soillse do ghnuis fhlathail.

Cuir an ceill dhomh, 'theachdair' dhilois,
Gealladh aoibhueach Dhe na firinn ;
Innis dhomh am briathraibh mine,
Chaoidh nach sgriosai1 sinn le dile.

Seallam ort a choroin sgiamhaich,
Mar roi'-earlais air Mac Dhia dhuinn,
'Chleith san fheoil ard ghloir a Dhiadhachd,
Ri'n sior sheallam ri am diachaiun.

Seallam ort a sheud ro aluinn,
Mar air teachdair' Righ na slainte,
'Mheasar leamsa fad mo laitheau
Mar an rod gu gloir a's paras.

'N uair bha mi 'm leauabh eatrom, gorach,
'Dearc' le h-loghnadh air do bhoicliead,
Dh'innseadh dhomh mar sgeul gun bhoilich
Na'n glacainn thu gu'm meallaiun storas.

O raon gu raon 's trie chuir mi 'n ruaig ort,
Le dochas baoth gu'n d' thugainu buaidh ort ;
Ach char a's mhoail thu mi ga m' bhuaireadh,
Mar iomad faileas faoin o'n uau- sin.

148

Ach ged a mheafl thu mi aW bharailV
'S nach do chum thu rium do ghealladb,
Ged a chaochail gloir do ghathan,
'S ged a sgaoil iad feadh an athair,

Dearcam ort, 's na ceileam uam e,

'N Ti nach treig mi ri uchd cruadail —

'N Ti bheir slainte dhomh a's solas,

?S leis nach meallar 'chaoidh mi 'm' dhochas.

7N uair bhios tuiltean trom air m* anam,
'S tonnan buaireas a' dol tharam •
Le suil creidimh riut 'an comhnuidh,
los' 1 bi dhomhs' a'd* bhogha dochais.

AM BIOBULL,

Co dh'innseas dhomh co dhealbh na saoghail^
?S na neamhan ailt gu h-ard a sgaoil,
Os ceann ua talmhainn f halamh, f haoin ?

Am BiobuH,

Co thug dhomh sgeul air tfts gach ni —
Co thug dhomh bith, a's cruth, a's brigh,
Le mais' a's oirdheirceas gun dith 1

Am, BiobulL

Co dh'innseas dhomh mar las a' ghrian
A lochrain ghlormhor, lasrach, dhian ?
0 shiorruidheachd gu bheil thu 3>hia ?

Am BiobulL

Co dh'innis dhomh gur h-ard thu, Dhe,
Os ceann mo smaointean lag gu leir,
Do ghloir gu'n lion i talamh 's neamh 1

Am BiobulL

Co thug dhomh sgeul mo chruitheachd fein,

'S mo cheud staid shon' am paras Dhe,

M' ard smachd os eeann gach ni fo'n ghrein ?

Am BiobulL

Co dh'innseas dhomh le dearbhadh fior
Mar bhris mi'n tiis do thoil, 's do riar-
'S mar chaidh air seacharan o Dhia ?

Am Biobial.

149

Cd dh'innis dhomh mo chor an Iras,
Gu firinneach gun bhreug, gun bhaigb,
'S gach fotus a tha 'm chridhe 'tamh ?

Am Biobull.

C6 'n sgathan anns am faic mi fein
Gach grainealachd tha 'tamh a'm' chre,
'Sgach dubhailc fholaieht' tha fo m' sgeith ?

Am Biobull.

Co thilg fo smalan mi 's fo bhron,
Le bhagraidhibh ro chruaidh a Ie6n,
'Shath saighdean corranach a'm' f heoil ?

Am Biobull.

C6, 'n uair shaoil mi a bin saor,

A thilg 'an geimhlibh mi, 's an daors',

A dhruid a steach mi air gach taobh ?

Am Biobull,

Co, 'n uair ghlaodh mi ann am chas,

A dh'f hosgail bealach dhomh chum slaint',

A bhris gach cuihhreach dhiom a's sas ?

Am Biobull.

Co, 'nuair a luidh oidheh' le gruaim
Air uchd m' anama, 's a bheuc cuan,
A labhair sith ri m' chogais thruaigh ?

Am Biobull.

Co thaom gathan grein' a's la
Air uchd m' anama le caoin dhears',
A lion le solus e 's le blath's ?

Am Biobull.

Co a' chruit a's grinne ceol ?
Ciod an sgeul is binne gloir ?
Ciod an taisg-thigh 's luachmhoir' stor ?

Am Biobull.

C6 'sgap an duibhre a's a' mhuig,
A chlaon, a dhall, 's a mheall mo shuil,
'S a threoraich mi mar lochran iutl ?

Am Biobull,
Co an tobar fallan, fuar,
'Chaisg dhomh m' lota 's an an-uair,
Do m' chridh' thug fionnaireachd gu luath ?

Am BiobulL

150

C'ait' am faigh an coigreach Ion ?
Am paiteach fior-uisge r'a 61
A bheir an t-anam seargta bed 1

>S a' Bhiobull.

A f hradharc, c'ait'am faigh an dall ?
Am bacach leointe lus nam ball,
A bheir gu coiseachd e uach mall ?

'S a' Bhiobull.

Co bheir subhachas do 'n chridh' ?
Co bheir misneach dha a's clith ?
Co. ged sheachd e, bheir gu brigh ?

Am Biobull.

Co a shasaicheas am bochd ?
Co a chomhdaicheas an nochd ?
Co bheir saorsa o gach lochd ?

Am Biobull.

Co bheir air an fhasach chruaidh
Teachd ga ailleachd agus snuadh;
A sgaoileas maise air 'bhios buan ;

Am Biobull.

Failt ort fein a leabhair naoimh !
Failt ort fein a theachdair chaoimh !
Fas am meas am bheachd a chaoidh.

A Bhiobuill.

Am chluais do cheol biodh binn gu brath,
Do m' bhlas gu millis biodh gach tre*th,
Do theagasg biodh a'm' chridh' gach la,

A Bhiobuill.

A'd' sgathan aillidh chunn'cas thai],
An Ti mo shaorsa ghabh os laimh
An Ti tha seasamh rium an daimh.

A Bhiobuill.

'Aghaidh a'd' sgathan soilleir re"idh,
Sior dhearcam air, is faiceam e,
Gus 'na iomhaigh 'n dealram f^in.

A Bhiobuill.

0 ! gabh do thurus do gach tir,
Lc d' theachdaireachd is torrail brigh,
A dh' aiseag dhaoin' a dh'ionnsuidh sitb,

A Bhiobuill.

151

AN T-EARRACH.

Tha 'n Geamhradh air teicheadh o'n Deas chum an Tuath,
'S an aite fuachd feannach am bias 'faotainn buaidh ;
'S na buidhnean chlach-mheallain bha sgaiteach o chein,
Air leaghadh gu tliis ann an dearsa na grein'.

Tha 'ghrian nis a* sgaoileadh a gairdean a mach—

O'n Ear gns an lar tha i 'g iarraidh mar theach ;

'S an t-sobhrag bha greis uainn a' folach a cinn,

Le caomh mhais' tha 'breacadh a' mhonaidh 's na glinn.

Ach Earraich, ged chaidh uait na baideil air chall,
'Sa dh'f hag iad an Ard-thir a's comhnard nan Gall,
Dean faicill mar ghaisgeach, na smuainich air suain,
Mu'm pill iad mar f hithich a mhilleadh nan uan.

Tha'n t-airean gun euslain a' reubadh nan cnoc,

'S a' tiunndadh nan neoinean 'measg uir anns a' ghlaic ;

Fear eile gu surdail a' sgapadh an f hrois,

Agus each a's cliath-chliata nan deann aig a chois.

Tha bar-gucag an Fhoghair ag at air a' chraoibh,
A's lith uain' an Earraich a' sgaoileadh gach taobh ;
Tha 'n tom-sheangan a' gluasad, 's a' chuileag gu mear,
A' dannsadh 's a' ghrian-ghath tha 'sineadh o'n Ear.

Tha'm foghnan a' sineadh a shleaghan a mach,
Toirt dulan do'n Gheamhradh ris pilleadh gu 'theach.
Cha 'n ioghnadh learn idir mar chinneas am feur,
Tha grian anns an h'nne, 's aon eile 's an speur.

Tha choill a bha lomnochd a' feadail 's a' ghaoith
'Ga cdmhdach le duilleach, a's blathaibh gach taobh.
Is taitneach an sealladh bhi 'g amharc a suas,
A's srannan a t-seillein a' seirm ann am chluais.

'S an utha na h-eisg tha ri mire gun chlos,

A' sireadh nan cuileag taobh geal-bhuinne cas ;

'S beist-donn air sgorr creige air chrith gu bhi shiios

An doimhneachd an aigein thoirt bradain a mos.

Tha ghobhar a' faochnadh ri aodan a' chnaip,
A' teagasg d'a minnean an ealain air streap ;
Agus uan a' slor mhireag mu'n cuairt air a' phreas,
'S a mhiithair ga shireadh mu bhruachaibh an eas.

Air ard uiliun Chruachain tha gluasad nan eun,
Am fitheach, an croman, 's an iolaire tlireun ;
'S gu m' chluasaibh tha 'tighinn ard lagan an f heidh,
Agus ceolan na h-ainnir 's i 'leigeil na spreidh.

152

Tha ghrian nis air luidhe air Earrach an aigh,
'S e le aoidh 'dol a liubhairt an ail suas do'n Mhagh ;
Chi mi 'n Samhradh a' tighinn, air uilinn nan earn,
'>S gair ait anns na gleannaibh 's an coille Mhuc-carn !

TEISTEANNAS EACHAINN BHAIN A MUILE.

[Chaidh Eachann Ban gu ministear araidh a dh'iarraidh teist-
eannas. Thuirt am ministear ris nach buinneadh e d' a sgir-
eachd-san, — nach robh eolas aig' air, agus uime sin nach b'ur-
rainn e. Ach, ars' esan, tha mi 'faicinn gu bheil thu aosmhor,
anfhann, agus, do reir coltais, bochd. Dean suidhe tacan,
agus bheir mi dhuit teisteannas cho maith 's is urrainn domh
le coinnseas glan. Ann an tiota thug e dha an teisteannas a
lean as ; agus bu leur a' bhlath air Eachann o 'n la sin.]

Tha Fear-iomachair a' phaipeir so fann,
Mar is duth dha 's an am 's e cho sean —
Thromaieh aois air le h-iomadaidh bron
'Tha rithe fuaighte 's gun ddigh air a chleith :
Tha na neoil an deigh iadhadh mu'n cuairt —
Chinn an iarmailt ro ghruamach air fad ;
Agus dhorchaicheadh lochran nam buadh,
Air bheag soluis ach tuaileus fo smal.

Chaidh luchd-gleidhidh an tighe o fheum
A chion spioraid, a's speirid, a's luith ;
Db'fhas na daoine bha spionntach gun chlith,
'S iad a' cromadh a sios chum na h-uir':
Chaidh iad uile gu buileach o stath
Seach mar chleachd a's mar bha iad o thus ;
Tha'n luchd-bleith an deigh sgur o na dh'fhas
lad cho tearc a's a chnkmh iad gu'n cul.

Tha na h-uinneagan cruinne b' f hearr dealbh

Air fas reodanach, seana-bhileach, tuar ;

'S an luchd-seallaidh bu smearaile colg

Air an iadhadh le dorchadas buan :

Tha na dorsan teann druidt' anns gach sraid,

Agus fuaim na bleith 'ghna 'dol n'is isl';

Ni e clisgeadh a suas ri guth eoin,

'S tha gach binneas a's ceol air bheag pris.

Dhruid an t-am 's am bi geilt roi' ni ard,

Threig a' chaileachd a's dh'f hailnich an gniomh ; "

Tha gach uamhas 's an t-sligh' 'na cheann-fkth

Aig an duine gu 'charadh fo fhiamh ;

Tha 'chraobh-almoin a nis fo a blath,

Anns a' gheamhradh — tiom tmrach nan sian ;

153

JS an leumnach-uaine na eallach air fas,
'N uair a chaochail, 'sa bhasaich am miann.

A chionn gu bheil an t-eilthireach truagh
A* triall gu 'dhachaidh ro bhuan air blieag dail ;
'S an luchd-cumhaidh, 'n am sgaoileadh o'n uaigh,
'Dol 'n am buidhnibh mu'n cuairt anus gach sraid ;
'N uair a dh'fhuasglar gu buileach an cord
Luaehmhor airgid — gun seol air a tha'dh,
'S nach bi feum ann an soire n'is mo
Chum an dreuchd gus 'n do shonraicheadh e.

'S e so staid a's cor muladach, truagh

An fhir-thurais — nach truagh leibh mar tha ?

Dhruid na bliadhnaibh 's an aidich e 'chuis —

" Cha 'n 'eil tlachd agam annta gu brach."

Ach 's e 'mheudaich a thruaighe gu leir

A bhean mar uallach 'na dheigh 's i 'n droch shlaint';

'S ged is duilich gur h-eiginn da falbh,

'S iad 'am freasdal ri oirchiosaibh chaich.

Cha bu struidheas, cion teomachd, no leisg,

Fhad 's a shealbhaich e neart agus cail,

JDh' f hag cho aimbeirteach, bhochd e, gun treoir,

Ach toil an Fhreasdail, 's mar dh'orduicheadh dha.

Bha e uair 's cha robh 'm Muile gu feum

Aon duine bu gheire 's a b' f hearr ;

Ged is duilich a chomhdach 's an uairs' —

Teann air deireadh a chuairt a's a laith'.

Fhir a leughas, no chluinneas mo dhan,
Bha Eachann mar tha thu 's an am ;
Thou: fainear gu'm faod thus' air bheag dail
Mar tha esan an drasd bhi — bochd fann :
Air an aobhar sin maoth'cheadh do chridh',
'S ma tha maoiu agad sin dha do lamh ;
Cha dean beagan 'thoirt uait deth bonn beud,
'N uair thig aois ort a's eucailean bais.

BEATHA MHIC AN DUINE.

Ar beatha tha mar aisling f haoin,
Mar sgaile faileis air an raon ;
Mar bhoisgeadh grein' roi' neoil air fair',
Mar ursgeul diomhain, goirid,^gearr,
Mar bhadan ceo air bharr nam beann,
No mar chloich a' ruith le gleann ;
Mar shaighead luath o'n taifid reith,
O'n bhogha luaineach 'n laimh an trein ;

154

Mar bhogha frois roi' bhraonaibh tlath,
Mar neonain ur is aillidh blath ;
Mar pheileil^teine 'ruith roi'n speur,
'S an ath-shealladh dheth nach leur ;
Mar neoil na h-oidhche 'tbeid 'n an luath's
'N uair dh'eireas grian an aigh a suas ;
Mar latha g^amhraidh air bheag speis,
Mar leud boise, no fad reis ;
Mar shlighe luinge air a' chuan,
Mar chobhar aibbne nach bi buan,
Ar beath' tha 'ruith mar so gu luath,
Gun stad,~gun fhois gu has a's uaigh !

TOBRAICHEAN CHARLSBAD.

na tobraichean so ainmeil air son iomad buagh. Thadaoine
o gach cearnn do'n t-saoghal r-'am faotainn 'sa' choimhearsnachd
'sam bheil iad, ag 61 do na h-uisgeachan a tha 'ruith uapa. Tha
Morair ainineil 'san t Suain do'n robh na tobraichean so air am
beannachadh chum a shlaint1 aiseag, 'n uair a bha e, do reir col-
tais. air ^leabaidh a bhais. Mar chuimhneachan air a' mhor
fheum a f huair e uapa, chuir e suas carragh eireachdail, agus
air gach taobh dheth jrhrubhail e raunan moladh do na tob-
raichean so. 'S ann an Laidinn! a sgriobh e so air tus, ach na
dheigh sin dh'f heuch e r'an eadar-theangachadh gu gach can-
ain air an t-saoghal air am b' urrainn da ruigheachd. Chuir e
iios do Oil-thigh Dhuneidinn dh'f heuch am b' urrainn doibh an
eadar-theangachadh gu Gaelic. Dh'earb iadsan a' chuis ris an
Olla Tormaid Macleoid, agus thug esan doibh an t-eadr-theang-
achadh alcanas.]

A Thobair luachmhoir air an luaidh gach bard,
Cia as tha blath's do shruthaibh 'teachd an aird ?
Na cuislean pronnasg anns am bheil a' bhuaidh,
'S am beo aol siubhlach ann a'd' shruthaibh luath ?
Am faod e bhith gu bheil do theas a' teachd
O'n teine choitcheann a tha 'n Etna steach ?
Tha Tobar-ionnlaid am Bahia cein,
'H-aon 'an Ismaris le Antenor treun,
Tha tobar eile 's aillidh, glan an loinn,
A' ruith gu bras mu bhruachaibh gorm na Rhine ;
Tobraiche priseil 'choisrigeadh a chaoidh,
Le;sbas righ Tearlach, ceannard ard nan saoidh.
Ach c6"an t-aon 'n am measg iad sud gu brath
A dh'f heudta choimeas riutsa, 'thobair aigh ?
Faic caochan ailHdh — faic e 'leum fo chraoibh,
Faic snuadh a dhathan air gach cloich r'a thaobh ;

155

Gach doirneag mheanbh a tha 'na chlais gu leir,
Le?n dreach thus bar air bogha ard nan speur !
Siubhail gu siubhlach, bras, a thobair igh,
A's aisig slainte, 's cail do dh'iomadh al.
Thigeadh an t-aosd' g'a ionnlad fein a'd' shruth,
A's gheibh e buaidh dh'ath-nuadhaicheas a chruth ;
Thigeadh digh lag gu tobar blath nam buadh,
A's pillidh 'n geal 's an dearg a ris na gruaidh.
Thigoadh gach tinn, gach deoraidh lag, 's gach fann,
A's gheibh iad slainte, 'sfaochadh nach bi gann ;
Pillidh iad ait o d' shruthaibh fallan, aigh,
'Toirt cliu do'n Ti chuir buaidh a'd' chuislibh "blath !

LAOIDH.

() 'Thriath nam buadh! tha'n cruinne luaidh do ghloir,
Do mhaitheas pailt, do ghliocas ceart 's do threoir ;
Tha iolach gnlidh o l)heanntaibh ard 's o'n chuan,

'id nan speur le caithream eibhinn, buan.
S Tu chroch gu h-ard na speuran 's aillidh sgiamh,
'N an guirme bhdidh'ch, le'n reultaibh 's orail fiamh,
Tha fiamh an 16 o'n ghrein is oirdheirc soills';
Tha 'ghealach sheimh 'cur sgail air neul na h oidhch';
Bidh'n saoghal ait le fiamh ua maidne ciuin,
'S le h-aoibhneas ait bheir teachd an fheasgair cliu,
Do d' ciithn' tha geill nan gaoth gu seideadh dian,
A's ceannsachd thonn 'am boile throm nan sian.
Tha iomlain naduir ;dealradh agh do ghlou*,
'S do mhaitheas graidh cha traoigh gu brach d'ar coir.
Thig uisge pailt le bhraonaibh feartar, tlath,
'Ni'in lasach ait io luisreadh reachdmhor blath,
Thig arbhar troin air slios nam fonn ; 's a' ghrian
(iu'ni laic an dithreabh 'fas le mile miagh ;
Fo bhraonaibh tlath ni 'n f haiche 's fasmhoir' siol
'An cuairt gach bliadhna pailteas fial a dhiol,
Cnuic 's cluaintean fas tha dreachte 'n uilleachd nuadh,
Fo chomhdach fe^ir is urail, eibhinn snuadh ;

:-lan trie le gean air slios nan cluan,
•fh fis-ait' ur tha 'labhairt cliu gu buan.
U Thriath nnm buadh ! tha'n cruinne 'luaidh do ghluir,
P<> mhaitheas pailt, do ghliocas ceart 's do threoir ;

' cian niu'ii (icalraich grian le h-iiil,
j,;- i";j!ii];i(lh ait mud* ghloir gu'n dearc gach siiil ;
Air oibrihli naduir shoillsii-h i'mmh le baigh,
Arh ;Vird a inais' tha 'd' theampull feartar, aigh ;
O mhaitheas grais 'bheil gloir a's airde buaidh,
'S ard chliu gun chrioch 'an aoibhueas sior 'ga luaidh.

156
BREITH CHRIOSD.

Ba trom-shamhach, tosdach bha 'bhuaile 'san t-achadh,

Cha chualas aon fharum, no gluasad ni's mo ;

A cha' chuairt-ghaoith ag osnaich air feadh nam beann dosach,

A's borbhan nam bras-uisg' ri monmhor roi' loin :

Sguir driop agus carraid. agus gleadhraich a' bhaile,

Chaidh gach ainmhidh a's duine gu samhchair a's sith ;

Sguir an uiseag d'a h-6ran, bha tosd air an smeoraich,

'S chaidh an treabhaiche dhachaidh gu h- airsnealach, sgith.

Bha 'ghealach air eiridh. a's gorm-bhrat nan speuran
A' dealradh le reultan cho fad 'sa bu leur ;
Bha buach'lean Bhetlehem air mullach nan sleibhtean
A' faire an treudan mu'n eireadh dhoibh beud :
Leo b'eibhinn an sealladh, ri fann-ghath na gealaich,
Bhi 'faicinn na spreidhe 'n an luidh' air an f heur ;
Leo bu mhilis bhi 'g eisdeachd na spideig air geugan,
A* seinn do na reultan bha 'dealradh 's an speur.

Ach chunnaic iad sealladh a b'£ibhinne gu fada
Mu'n d' thainig a' mhaduinn a' dealradh 's an speur ;
A's chual' iad guth molaidh bu mhilse gun choimeas
Na oran na spideig 'na suidh' air a' gheig :
Feuch thainig orr' aingeal a dh'innis dhoibh naigheachd,
'S ghrad fhuadaich e 'n t-eagal bha orr' aig an am ;
Dhealraich gloir Dhe uim', mar lochran bha 'eudann,
'S bu ghile bha 'eudach na sneachda nam beann. —

" Na bitheadh oirbh eagal, ach eisdibh le creideamh,

'S na cuiribh an teagamh an sgeul th'agam dhuibh ;

'N diugh rugaibh dhuibh Slan'ear 'am baile righ Daibhidh,

'Bheir saors' agus slaint' do gach til agus linn :

'S a chum a's nach seachainn sibh naoidhean na maise

Thugaibh aire do'n deis' air an aithnich sibh e ;

Gheibh sibh e 'm prasaich, 'am brat-speillidh paisgte —

'Sin cbmhdach gun mhorchuis, neo-riomhach Mhic Dhe ! "

Cha luaithe a thubhairt an t-aingeal so riutha

Na chual iad 's na speuran mor luathghair ro bhinn ;

'S air togail an suilean feuch a nuas orra thuirling

Mor chuideachd thar cunntais do ainglibh a' seinn : —

" G16ir do Dhia anns na h-ardaibh — Dha canaibh Hosana !

Air talamh biodh sith, agus deadh-ghean do dhaoin'!

Uil* onair biodh Dha-san a dhealbh innleachd slainte !

Gras De, trid an t-Slan'ir cha chaochail a chaoidh."

Printed by A. Sinclair, 62 Argyle Street, Glasgow.

SELECT ENGLISH POEMS,

GAELIC TRANSLATIONS,

ARRANGED ON OPPOSITE PAGES.

COMPILED BY

ARCHIBALD SINCLAIR.

SECOND SERIES.

GLASGOW:

ARCHIBALD SINCLAIR, 62 ARGYLE STREET.
EDINBURGH : M'LACHLAN AND STEWART.

MDCCCLXVII.

NOTE.

ABOUT eight years ago \ve published a collection of " Select
English Poems, with Gaelic Translations." We then promised,
that should the Work meet with success, our readers might
look for a Second Series at some future time. We are happy to
say that our first endeavour met with sufficient encouragement
to induce us to fulfil our promise, and what follows is the result.
We have again to offer an apology for the want of a proper
arrangement of subjects, a thing utterly impossible under the
circumstances; and this want will be felt even more in this
Series, there being more of a mixture of sacred and secular
matter than in the First. We had just to take the pieces as
they came to our hand. The principal objects we had in view,
in issuing these compilations were, — First, to improve the taste
of Highland youths, by placing before them in English and
in Gaelic extracts from the works of the British Poets ; and the
Second, to help to develope the ample resources of the Gaelic
Language. To enable us to attend to the latter efficiently, we
found it expedient to insert translations of secular as well as
religious poetry ; and although we are fully aware that the
pieces in the First Series are more select, yet we trust that our
readers will find this effort refreshing and instructive ; and let
them not despair of seeing even a Third Series. We take this
opportunity of returning our best thanks to the many kind
friends who have helped us by their valuable contributions, as
well as by aiding us in disposing of the First Series.

CONTENTS.

AUT1IOB.

TRANSLATOR.

PAGE

Lord Ullin's Daughter,

Campbell

P. M'Arthur

2

Lady Hester Stanhope,

Anonymous

Compiler

4

The Infant's Dream, -

Anonymous

Eraser

8

The Hermit,

Beattie

Compiler

12

Th« Christian'* Prayer,

Anonymous

Do.

14

Paradise Lost (Continued),

Milton

E. M'Lean

16

What's the News? -

Anonymous

J. Whyte

20

John Gilpin,

Cowper

Dr. N. M'Leod

24

The < 1 earing of the Glens,

Vedder

Compiler

38

ssiah,

Anonymous .

A. M'Fadyen -

44

Pharaoh,

Anonymous

Compiler

48

Little Mary Turner,

J. Anderson

Do.

50

A Cry from Craigellachie,

Prof. Shairp

Rev. A. Cameron

52

The Fountain Opened,

Bernard Barton

Compiler

60

Comfort under Affliction,

Sir R. Grant

A. M'Fadyen -

62

The Land of Promise,

Kelly

Compiler

64

The only Refuge,

Charles Wesley

A. M'Fadyen -

66

Trust in God,

Anonymous

Compiler

68

The Covenanters,

Anonymous

Do.

70

Love of Country,

Scott

Do.

72

Lochiel's Warning,

Campbell

Do.

72

Lochinvar,

Scott

J. Whyte, Jun.

78

The Rock Struck,

Hole

Compiler

60

The Lord's Prayer,

Trollope

Do.

84

Habakkuk's Prayer,

A nonymous

Do.

86

The Believer Comforted,

Wright

Do.

92

The Battle of Hohenlinden, -

Campbell

E. M-Lean

96

Verses to Mr. E. Llhuyd,

Rev. J. M'Lean

Rev. T. Pattison

98

The Mountain Sanctuary,

Vedder

Compiler

102

Psalm cxlviil,

Ogilvie

Do.

106

Hope,

Campbell

E. M'Lean

110

Miriam's Song,

Moore

Do.

110

Winter,

Newton

J. Clerk

112

The Exile's Complaint,

Trollope

Compiler

112

The Gospel,

Heber

A. M-Fadyen -

116

The Withered Leaves,

Bishop Ilorne

A nonymous

118

The Prayer of Agur,

-

Compiler

120

IV

The Society of True Highlanders,

The Emigrant,

Spring,

The Whole Creation Groaneth,

Lament over Saul and Jonathan,

The True Hero,

The Late Pi-ince Consort,

Hark ! the Herald Angels Sing !

What are these in bright array ?

There is a Rest from Sin and Sorrow, Anonymous

Come Weary Soul & view the Fountain, Anonymous

The Holy Scriptures,

Awake my Soul ! and with the Sun,

Rock of Ages cleft for me,

Gospel Questions,

The Christian's Firm Bank, -

Sanctified Affliction,

Where is Woe?

A Highland Wail,

The March of the Cameron Men,

The Graves of a Household,. -

God, - ...

Nearer to Thee,

Sun of my Soul,

" Lovest thou Me?"

Argyle,

Miscellaneous,

AUTHOR. TRANSLATOR.

PAGE

E. M'Lachlan E. M'Lachlan,

122

Erskine Rev. J. Sinclair

132

R. Whyte P. M'Naughton

136

Anonymous A. M-Fadyen -

140

SirW.S-Maxwell J. Whyte, Jun.

142

Anonymous Compiler

144

Rev. D. Fraser P. M'Naughton

146

Anonymous Rev. A. Clerk

150

Montgomery Do.

150

Anonymous Do.

112

Anonymous Do.

154

Anonymous Compiler

154

Bishop Ken Dr. J. M'Leod

156

Toplady Do.

158

R. Erskine Rev. J. M'Gregor

160

Rev. L. M'KenzieD. M'Dougall

170

Dr. J. M'Leod

174

Dr. J. M'Leod P. M'Naughton

176

Mac-Crimmon D. G. M'Dougall

184

Anonymous D. M'Naughton

180

Mrs. Hemans N. M'Neill

182

Derzhavin D. M'Dougall

184

Sarah F. Adams Dr. J. M-Leod

18g

Keble Do.

190

Cowper Rev. A. Cameron

1|2

Dr. J. Smith Compiler

196

- 197-200

SELECT
ENGLISH POEMS,

WITH

GAELIC TRANSLATIONS.
SECOND SERIES.

LORD ELLIN'S DAUGHTER.

A CHIEFTAIN to the Highlands bound,
Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry,

And I'll give thee a silver pound,
To row us o'er the ferry !"

" Now, who be ye, would cross Lochgyle,
This dark and stormy water ?"

"0, I'm the chief of Ulva's Isle,
And this Lord Ullin's daughter; —

" And fast before her father's men,
Three days we've fled together ;

For should he find us in the glen,
My blood would stain the heather.

" His horsemen hard behind us ride —
Should they our steps discover ;

Then, who would cheer my bonny bride,
When they have slain her lover ?"

Outspoke the hardy Highland wight,
4* I'll go, my chief — I'm ready :

It is not for your silver bright,
But for your winsome lady !

" And, by my word, the bonny bird

In danger shall not tarry ;
So — tho' the waves are raging white —

I'll row you o'er the ferry ! " —

By this the storm grew loud apace,
The water wraith was shrieking,

And in the scowl of heaven, each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.

But still as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,

Adown the glen rode armed men I —
Their trampling sounded nearer !

NIGHEAN TIGHEARN UILIN.

THUIRT Gaisgeacb, 'dol gu t\r nam beann,

"A Pbortair na dean moille,
'S gu'n toir mi gini dbuit a churn

Ar cur taobb tball na linne ! " —

"Co sibhse racbadh tbar Locbgoil,
Aig meud na gaoitb 's na doininn?"

"Air Eilean Ulbba 's mis' is oigbr',
'S i mbaigbdean s' nigbean Tighearn Uilin.

" Lucbd-feacbd a h-athar oirnn tha'n geall,
'S ruitb sinn gu teann tri laitbean;

Na 'm beireadb iad oirnn anns a' gbleann,
Bhiodh m' f buil air ball mu 'n lamban.

"Na 'n aimseadb a mbarc-shluagb oirnn,

'S iad air ar toir 'g ar leanailt,
Co thogadb misneacb na h-oigb1,

'Nuair leonadh iad a leannan?"

Labhair an Gaidheal nach robh fann,
"Leibh theid mi null sa' mhionaid:

Cha 'n e do dhuais tha ga m' thoirt ann,
Ach 'n ribhinn tba ga d' leanailt.

"'S cha'n f ban a' mbaigbdean 's aillidh snuadh

'An cunnart cruaidh ni 's faide ;
Oir ged a dh' eireadh muir na stuagb'n —

'S an uair so theid sinn thairis !"— -

Mu 'n am so bhoc an cuan gu h-ard,
'S caoir bhan air bharr nan tonnan,

'S am feadh a labhair, iad bha each
Ri f aisineacbd mu 'n doininn.

Ach mar bu mh& a sheid a ghaoth,

'S a sgaoil an oidhche tharuinn,
A nuas an gleann gu 'n cualas srann,

Luchd-lann a' teacbd le farum.

4

" Oh ! haste thee, haste !" the lady cries,

" Tho' tempest round us gather,
111 meet the raging of the skies,

But not an angry father."

The boat has left a stormy land,

A stormy sea before her —
When — oh! too strong for human hand I —

The tempest gathered o'er her.

And still they rowed amidst the roar

Of waters fast prevailing :
Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore —

His wrath was changed to wailing.

For sore dismayed, through storm and shade,

His child he did discover ! —
One lovely arm she stretch'd for aid,

And one was round her lover.

" Come backl come back I" he cried in grief,

" Across this stormy water :
And I'll forgive your Highland chief,

My daughter I oh ! my daughter I"

'Twas vain I — the loud waves lash'd the shore,

Return or aid preventing :
The waters wild went o'er his child—

And he was left lamenting.

LINES ON THE DEATH OF LADY HESTER

STANHOPE.*

She left behind her dearest friends,

In other lands to roam,
The desert 's now her resting-place,

Her country and her home :

* Lady Hester Stanhope was the farourite niece of William
Pitt, for whom she acted as confidential secretary ; and it is also
said that she had been affianced to Sir John Moore, who fell at
Comma. Her strong affections heing blighted, and her talents
and energies left without an object, by the death of her uncle and

"0 ! greasaibh," ars1 an 6igh gu luath,
*'Ged chuartaich cunntan tharuinn,

Am mein an f hrcasdail theid 'a an uair
Mu'n c&mhlaich gruaman m' athar."

Bha 'n stoirm araon air muir 's air tlr,
'Nuair rinn am bata imeachd,

Bha gairdean ftolmhor lag air chinnt',
'S na tuinn le gaoith 'gan iouiain.

'S am feadh a dh' iomair iad gu seolt'
Feadh doininn mhoir a's sillidh,

Thainig Tighearn Uilin air an toir,
>S a mhorchuis pliill gu tioma.

Le'mulad chunnaic beagan uaith
Air feadh nan stuagh a leanabh ! —

Aon ghairdean gradhach shin i suas,
A's aon mu'n cuairt d'a leannan.

"0 thig air t' ais!" ghlaoidh e le bron,
*' Roimh bhocanaich nan tonnan:

A's maitheam dhuit gu saor fadheoidh,
Mo nighean 6g ro loinneil."

Bu diomhain tilleadh feadh nan tonn,
Bha tuilleadh 's trom ri 'n gleachdadh :

An fhairge chaidh i thar an ceann —
'S a chall gu'n d'rinn e fhaicinn.

RANNAN MU BHAS NA MNA UAISLE AINMEIL,
HESTER STANHOPE.

0 'duthaich a's o 'cairdean dh'fhalbh

Gu fearann fad' an cein ;
'S e'm fasach nis a h-ionad taimh,

'S a dachaidh bhos fo'n ghr6in :

her lorer, she withdrew Ironi European society, and retired to the
cheerless solitude ol'an old convent in Syria, where she acquired
great influence over the Arabs, who conferred upon her the title
of " Queen of the Desert," in return for her open-handed munifi-
cence and indomitable courage.

For her Arabia's sweets distil, —

For her its blossoms fall,
And Lebanon's proud cedars yield

To deck her sylvan hall.

The Syrian brings his golden fruit

And all his spicy store,
An offering to " The Desert Queen"

From many a sunny shore ;
The Arab leaves his smiling tents,

Forgets his prize abroad,
To guard his " goddess " o'er the wild,

And kiss the path she trod.

From Ethiopia's torrid clime

To Sinai's hoary height,
Her frown can arm the slumbering vale,

Or quell the stormy fight :
The warrior humbly bends the knee,

Or drops the gory sword,
Rejoices in her gracious smile,

Or trembles at her word !

But, Lady ! hast thou never thought,

Amid thy pomp and power,
Of Home and all its thousand ties

And childhood's happy hour ?
Oh ! hast thou never heaved a sigh

Or dropt a pensive tear
O'er memories of thy native land,

And all thy kindred dear ?

Or did thy friends of early youth,

Like flowers untimely fall,
And leave thee, last of all thy race,.

To tread thy father's hall ?
And didst thou shun the lonely spot

To seek another shore,
To mourn o'er joys and honours gone,

That may return no more ?

Tha bbltrach tlath Arabia

A' sgaoileadh air gach taobh,
'S tha seudair arda Lebanoin

'Cur mais' a's dreach faraon.

Na Sirianaich thig iad le meas,

A's splsreadh mar an ceudn';
A's tiodhlacan bheir leotha fos

0 iomadk aite ce^n,
An t-Arabach gu'm fag a bhutb,

'S gach maoin a's ni ta ann,
Gu teanacas thoirt d'a Bhanrighin fein,

'S a dion le faobhar lann.

0 Ethopia 'an coin

Gu mullach beinn Shinai ;
A gruaim gu'n gluas an sluagh gu h-euchd,

No ciuinichidh gu saiinh ;
An gaisgeach treun gu'n liib a ghlun,

;S gu'n leig a chlaidheamh sios,
A's criothnaichidh le geilt roi' guiiis,

No bidh e ait 'na sid.

Ach innis an do smaointich riamli,

'Am meadhon do mhor uaill,
Air dachaidh t'oige 's air do dhaimb,

Le miltean ceangal buan ?
'Ndo dbuisg an osna ann a'd' chom ?

1N do shil gu dluth do dbeoir,
A' cuimhneachadh do dhiithcha fein,

A's chairdean nach 'eil bto ?

A's cairdean t'oig' an d' shearg iad as,

Mar mbaise blath an fheoir ?
'S an luchairt t'athar 'n robh 'nan deigh

A'd' dheoraidh truagh fo bhron ?
'N do sheachainn thu an t-aite sin,

'S an d'iarr thu duthaich chein,
Gu tuireadh air son gean a's agh

Nach pill gu brath riut fein ?

8

Say, did thy friends deceive thy love

And rend thy youthful heart ?
And did'st thou flee like stricken deer

To languish o'er the dart ?
Did Arabv's fair gardens seem

More lovely in thine eye,
Than all the ties that bind the soul,

To home and infancy ?

'Tis vain to ask ! " The Desert Queen"

Hath reached the peaceful shore,
Where faint and weary pilgrims rest,

Their toil and trouble o'er !
The Bedouin has planted there

The fairest flowers he found !
To show the spot in which she sleeps,

And mark the sacred ground !

THE INFANT'S DREAM.

Know ye who I saw last night,

Sleeping on my bed, Mamma ?
A shining creature all in light ;

She seem'd a heavenly maid, Mamma.
She met me tripping o'er the dew,

Fine as a queen of May, Mamma ;
She saw, she sinil'd, she to me flew,

And bade me come away, Mamma.

1 look'd, I lov'd I, blush'd a- while,

0 how could I say, No, Mama ?
She spoke so sweet, so sweet did smile,

1 was oblig'd to go, Mamma :
For love my tender heart beguil'd,

I felt unusual flames, Mamma.
My infant-fancy turn'd so wild,

So strangely wild my dreams, Mamma.

I was. I was, I know not how,

0 had you been with me, Mamma !

'N do mheall do chairdean thu le foill

A bhris do chridhe leont' ?
'S mar earb an deigh a lot gu goirt

'N do theich thu 'n so o'n toir ?
Bheil liosan ciibhr' Arabia

Ni's gradhaiche leat fein
Na h-uile ait' ab' ionmhuinn leat,

A's neach d' an d' thug thu speis ?

Is diomhain f harraid — chaidh i nis

Thar Jordan f huar a' bhais,
Far 'faigh na h-anraich fois o'n sgios,

A's fuasgladh o gach cas :
An t-Arabach gu'n sath an sin

Am blath a b' aile f huair,
A nochdadh ca' bheil i fo'n lie,

'S mar chomharr air a h-uaigh !

BRUADAR AN LEINIBH.

Bheil f hios agaibh am bruadar neonach

'Chunnaic mis' an raoir, Mharna ?
Creutair maiseach, geal, ro ghlormhor,

Mar oigh neamhaidh shoills', Mhama.
Choinnich i mi air an druchd,

A's sheall i rium le failt', Mhama ;
'N sin thainig i gu grad dhomh dluth,

A's thuirt i rium, " Thig leain, a ghraidh."

Dh' amhairc mi, a's thug mi gaol dh'i,

A diultadh cha'n fhaodainn, Mhama ;
Labhair i cho milis, caomh rium,

A's chaidh mi leath' gu saor, Mhama.
Oir mheall an gaol mo chridhe maoth,

Bha lasair nach robh faoin, Mhama,
'Cur fadadh ri m' aigne gun rian,

Bha m' aisling cho beag ciall, Mhama.

Bha mi — ni 'm fios domh mar a bha —
Ach Oh ! na 'm biodh sibh ann, Mhama ;

10

Such wonders open to our view,
As none but angels see, Mamma.

Methought we wander'd in a grove,
A grove in pleasant fields, Mamma ;

In joyful measures on we move,
As music rapture yields, Mamma.

She took me in her snow-white hand,

Then led me through the air, Mamma,
Far higher above sea and land,

Than ever eagles were, Mamma !
The sea and land, with all their stores,

Of rivers, woods, and hills, Mamma,
Indeed they do appear no more

Than a few little pills, Mamma.

I sought, and sought Papa's estate,

But found it not at all, Mamma.
The world, in whole, seem'd not so great -

As half a cannon-ball, Mamma.
We saw the sun, but like a star,

The moon, a mustard-seed, Mamma.
Like Elias in his fiery car,

Being wing'd with lightning's speed, Mamma.

Swift as our thoughts, 0 joyful day I

We glance through all the spheres, Mamma ;
Their music sounding by the way,

Heaven rush'd upon our ears, Mamma ;
Now spheres, and all we knew before,

Are lost unto our view, Mamma ;
The former things are now no more,

Behold, all things are new, Mamma.

No death there is, nor sorrow there,

To interrupt our bliss Mamma ;
For death, sin, hell, and sorrow are

Deep-buried in th' abyss, Mamma.
With wintry storms the ground ne'er pines,

Cloth'd in eternal bloom, Mamma ;
The Sun of glory ever shines,

The Just they shine with him, Mamma.

11

Dh'fhosgail iongantais gach taobh,
Nach f haic ach aingle naomh, Mhama.

Th'air learn gun d' imich sinn measg chraobh,
Bu taitneach learn an raon, Mhama,

Le aoibhneas a' gluasad le'r deoin,
Mar ghleusas binn cheol gach cail.

'N sin thog i 'n airde mi gu grad,

'S mi aic' na sneachd-ghil laimh, Mhama,
Ni 's fhaide os ceann muir a's tir,

Na bha iolar riamh. Mhama.
A' mhuir a's tir, 's gach ni ta annt',

Gach coill a's beinn, gach srath a's earn,
Bu lugh' iad gu leir ann ar beachd,

No graine do chloich-shneachd, Mhama.

'N sin sheall mi, agus sheall mi ris,

7S cha d'fhuair mi 'n oighreachd aig Papa ;
An saoghal gu leir cha bu mho,

Na peilear gunna mhoir, Mhama.
Cha bu mho na rionnag a' ghrian,

A' ghealach no ros crlon, Mham£ ;
Sinn 'direadh mar Elias suas,

Mar dhealanach aig luath's, Mhama.

Oh 'n turas aoibhneach ! luath mar smuain,

Os ceann nan speur 'dol suas, Mhama ;
Gu h-obann chuairt'cheadh sinn le ceol,

A's flaitheanas na gloir, Mhama.
Cha chuala cluas, cha'n fhaca suil,

A leithid a shluagh 's a dhu'ich, Mhama,
Na seann nithe chaidh 'n cur air cul,

Gach uile ni ann ur, Mharna.

Is cha 'n 'eil has an sin no bron,

Ach aoibhneas siorruidh 's solas lau ;
Am bas, am peacadh, ifrinn s bron,

Chaidh 'n adhlacadh 'san doimhn' gu brath.
'N so cha '11 'eil geamhradh cranntaidh, fuar,

Ach samhradh buan gun cheann, Mliama ;
Oir Grian na gloir' tha 'dealradh shuas,

'S na ilreana na lath'r, Mhama.

12

I saw my sister Anna shine,

A virgin in her prime, Mamma ;
Not such as with you sometimes dine ;

But like the angels fine, Mamma ;
Her rohe was all a flowing stream

Of silver dipt in light, Mamma;
But ah ! it wak'd me from my dream,

It shin'd so strong and bright, Mamma !

THE HERMIT.

At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still,
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulneos prove ;
When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill,
And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove ;
'Twas then by the cave of the mountain afar,
A hermit his song of the night thus began;
No more with himself, or with nature, at war,
He thought as a sage, while he felt as a man.

Ah ! why thus abandoned to darkness and woe,
Why thus, lonely Philomel, flows thy sad strain !
For spring shall return, and a lover bestow,
And thy bosom no trace of misfortune retain.
Yet, if pity inspire thee, ah ! cease not thy lay ;
Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn :

0 sooth him, whose pleasures, like thine, pass away !
Full quickly they pass — but they never return.

"Now, gliding remote, on the verge of the sky,
The moon, half extinguished, her crescent displays :
But lately I marked, when majestic on high
She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze.
Roll on, thou lair orb ! and, with gladness, pursue
The path that conducts thee to splendour again —
But man's fading glory no change shall renew.
Ah fool ! to exult in a 'glory so vain!

" 'Tis night ; and the landscape is lovely no more.

1 mourn ; but, ye woodlands ! I mourn not for you :
For morn is approaching, your charms to restore,
Perfumed with fragrance, and glittering with dew.
Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn ;

Kind nature the embryo blossom will save—

13

Mo phiuthar Anna, chunnaic mi, "

'Na h-oigh shoillsich ghil, Mnama, '
Cha 'n ann mar iadsan bhios marr ribhs', '

Aig dinnear no aig t\, Mhama.
Ach comhdaichte le trusgan riomhach,

Dh' airgiod tumta 'n solus aigh ;
Ach ah ! gu'n d' dhuisg e rai o in' bhruadar,

'N lainnear bha m'a cuairt, Mhama.

AN T-AONARAN.

Mu thoiseach na h-oidhch' 'n uair tha 'm baile mu thamh,
'8 am pobull gu suaimhneach, gun acain, gun phramh ;
?S nach cluinnear ach torman an uillt air a' ghaoith,
Agus caoidhrettn na feadaig gu dubhach feadh chraobh ;
B'ann an sin lamh ri uaimh, fada cian o gach beo,
'Sheinn Aonaran liath gu ro thiamhaidh a cheol :
Cha mho bha ris fein no ri nadur an gruaim,
Oir bhreithnich mar ghliocair a's dh'aidich a thruaigh*.

" C'arson tha thu, 'f headag, cho dubhacb, fo ghruaim,

Gu h-anraiteach, acaineach, 'm fasgadh nam bruach !

Oir pillidh an t-earrach le leanuan duit fein,

'S do chridhe bidh ait am measg chrann agus gheug.

Ach truas riamh mu dh'f hairieh na cuitich do ghlaodh :

Le daoine guil thus' air son solais a chlaon :

Thoir furtachd, — ar sonais cha mhair ach ro ghearr !

Gu grad theid iad seachad, 's cha phill iad gu brath.

" Tha 'gheallach air teaniadh o airde nan speur,
'S 'ga falach fo'n f haire 's a' fagail an r6 : %
Car tacain 'na morachd gu'n d' shiubhail i shuas,
'S tha na reultan fo dhubhar le dealradh a snuaidh.
Gabh air t'aghaidh a'd' chursa gun churam, gun sglos,
Anns a' cheum ni do threorach' gu morachd a ris —
Ach uabhar luchd-goraich cha t6id leo fo'n fhod,
'S ciod uime 'n dean duine gearr-shaoghalach bosd !

" Tha'n oidhch' ann, a's maise cha'n f haicear air cluan ;
Ach mo thuireadh cha'n 'eil air son ghleann agus chruach
Oir an f haire tha 'briseadh ni maiseach as ur,
Air an spisreadh le lusan, 's fo thlath dhealt do'n druchd.
Cha'n 'eil air son dudlachd a' gheamhraidh fo phr&mh ;
Oir ni tlom agus uadur gach m mar a bha —

]4

But, when shall spring visit the mouldering urn ?
O ! when shall it dawn on the night of the grave ?

" 'Twas thus, by the glare of false science betrayed,

That leads to bewilder : and dazzles, to blind ;

My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade,

Destruction before me, and sorrow behind.

O ! pity grea,t Father of light ! then 1 cried,

Thy creature, who fain would not wander from thee,

Lo ! humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride :

From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free.

"And darkness and doubt are now flying away ;
No longer I roam, in conjecture forlorn ;
So breaks on the traveller, faint, and astray,
The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn.
See truth, love, and mercy, in triumph descending,
And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom !
On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blending,
And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb,"

THE CHRISTAIN'S PRAYER.

My God, in me thy mighty power exert,

Enlighten, comfort, sanctify, my heart :

Sweeten my temper, and subdue my will,

Make me like Jesus, with thy spirit fill.

I want to live on earth a life of faith,

I want to credit all the Bible saith :

I want to imitate rny Saviour's life,

Avoiding lightness, gloom, and sinful strife.

I want to bring poor sinners to thy throne,

I want to love and honour Christ alone :

I want to feel the Spirit's inward power,

And stand prepared for death's important hour.

I want a meek, a gentle, quiet frame,

A heart that glows with love to Jesus's name :

I want a living sacrifice to be,

To him, who died a sacrifice for me.

I want to do whatever God requires,

I want my heart to burn with pure desire :

I want to'be what Christ my Lord commands,

And leave myself, my all, in his dear hands.

O Lord, pour 6ut thy Spirit on my soul,

My will, my temper, and my tongue control ;

Lead me through life to glorify thy grace,

And after death to see thee face to face !

15

Ach c'uin a thig earrach air geamhradh na h-uaigh ?
A dhuisgeas ar ciirdean gu aileachd a's suuadh ?

" B'ann mar so, le as-creideamh, a dh'imich mi clith,
Air soachran 'san fhasach gu h-anrai teach, sgith ;
Mo smuaintean bha 'siubhal air cuspairean cein,
A's leir-sgrios bha romhatn a's trioblaid a'm' dh6igh.
O ! Athair na soillse, bi caoimhneil 's cum baigh
Ri creutair air seachran 's gu beachd ann an cas,
A' sleuchdadh 's an duslach, do t'oideas bheir speis :
'S o dhaorsa 's o theagamh ma teasraig mi fein.

•* Tha dorchadas 's gruaim air am f uadach 's gach ait',

'S na's fhaide cha ghluais mi fo iomagain 's to chradh

A nis am foar-turais air seachran cha teid,

Oir an latha tha 'sgaoileadh gu h-aobhach an cein.

Faic trocair a's firinn a' tuirling a nuas,

'rS tha nadur fo bhlath 'na ceud ailleachd a's snuadh !

Air gnuis fhuar au aoig thig gean agus muiru,

'd thig niaise neo-bhismhor au airde o'n uir.

URNUIGH A' CHRIOSDUIDH.

Annam-sa, Dhia, do bhuaghan naomha nochd,

Soillsich a's comhf hurtaich mo chridhe bochd;

Mo nadur maothaich, 's thoir mo thoil gu striochd'—

Le d' Spiorad lion, 's dean cosmhuil mi ri Criosd.

Deonaich, le muinnghinn naomh, gu'n caith mo re,

'S gu'n creid gach ni tha 'm Biobull 'cur an geill ;

Ri in' Shlan'ear naomh bhi cosmhuil 'B e mo mhiann,

Neo-bhaoghalta, gun ghruaim, le raogha ciall.

'S e m' iarrtas peacaich thoirt gu caithir grais,

'S do losa gnidh a's onair thoirt thar chaich.

Fo chumhachd Spioraid Naomha Dhe bhi'm feasd,

?S fa chomhair breitheanais a ghnath bhi deas.

Bhi macanta a's ciuin, gun striichd, gun uaill,

'S mo chridhe ghnath bhi lau le gradh do'u Uan:

'S mar iobairt bheo mi fein thoirt suas gach am

Dlia-sau a bhasaich air mo shon air crann —

Gach ni dh'aithn losa dhomh bhi sti lochdt' gach am,

'S mi fein as m' uilo bhi gu tur 'na laiinh.

Do Spiorad Naomha taoiu air m' anam fein,

'S mo thoil 's mo nadur bheir dhuit oradh gach re :

Hoi'n t-saoghal treoraich mi gu cliu do ghrais,

't> thoir dhomh gu iaic doghuuis taobh thall a' bhais.

16

PARADISE LOST.
( Continued from page 96 of First Series.;

If thou beest he ; but 0 how fallen! how chang'd

From him, who in the happy realms of light,

Cloth'd with transcendent brightness, didst outshine

Myriads, tho' bright ! if he whom mutual league,

United thoughts and counsels, equal hope

And hazard in the glorious enterprize,

Join'd with me once, now misery hath join'd

In equal ruin ! into what pit thou seest

From what height fall'n, so much the stronger prov'd

He with thunder : and till then who knew

The force of those dire arms ? Yet not for those,

Nor what the potent Victor, in his rage,

Can else inflict, do I repent or change,

Though chang'd in outward lustre, that fix'd mind

And high disdain, from sense of injur'd merit,

That with the Mightiest rais'd me to contend ;

And to the fierce contention brought along

Innumerable force of spirits arm'd,

That durst dislike his resign ; and me preferring,

His utmost pow'r with adverse pow'r oppos'd

In dubious battle on the plains ot heaven,

And shook his throne. What tho' the field be lost ?

All is not lost : th' unconquerable will,

And study of revenge, immortal hate,

And courage never to submit or yield ;

And what is else not to be overcome ?

That glory never shall his wrath or might

Extort from me. To bow and sue for grace

With suppliant knee, and deify his power,

Who from the terror of this arm so late

Doubted his empire ; that were low indeed,

That were in ignominy, and shame beneath

This downfall : since by fate the strength of gods,

And this empyreal substance cannot tail ;

Since through experience of this great event

In arms not worse, in foresight much advauc'd,

We may with more successful hope resolve

To wage by force or guile eternal war,

Irreconcileable to our grand foe,

Who now triumphs, and in th" excess of joy

Sole reigning, holds the tyranny of heav'n.

So spake th' apostate angel, 'though in pain,
Vaunting aloud, but rack'd with deep despair :

17

AM FOGRADH A PARAS.

Ma's tu 'tha ann, ach O ma's tu, 's tu 'mhuth

Bbo'n staid 'san robh thu'n tir an t soluist aigh,

'N ad eideadh boisgeanda measg mhiltoan flath

'G an glninead dheursadh tu : 'n tu sheas learn 'suas

Comh-cheangailt ann am boinn, — mar ann a'm beachd

Gun chaochladh ruin, 's gach comhaiil' dh'aontaich sinn

'An dull 'san dochas, comhla anns gach cas, —

'S an ionnsaidh thoirbheart.iich nach deachaidh leinn — ,

'S 'n do thachair sinn a nis' fo sprochd ?s fo bhiou.

Mar chi thu'n aird bho'n d'thainig sinn do'n t'slochd,

Bha neart a thairneanach fosceann ar cli

Ach gus a sin, co dh'thiosraich neart nan arm

Cho gairsneach riu? A dh'aindeoin siod 's gach ni

'Tha 'u comas Trein nam buadh a dheanadh orm

Cha dean mi aithreachas 's cha mhulh mi doig'h :

Ged thainig smal air dealradh glan mo chruth

Cha lasaich m'aigne ; shocraich fuath 'n am chom

A mhaireas buan, bho'n rinneadh dimeas orm,

A dhiiisg mi suas gu stri ri Triath nan trein,

Le comhlan iomarcach fo'n airm gu cath

De spioradaibh nach seachnadh gleachdadh cruaidh,

'S nach geilleadh dha ; ach mise roighnich iad

Le neart an aghaidh neairt air comhnard neamh

Gu 'dhulan chuireadh e 's an iomairt ghairbh

A chrath a chathair i-inghail 'sios gu 'bonn.

< 'haill sinn an arthaich, — coma ged a chaill

Chad'chailleadh leinn gach m : an toil nach strlochd

An run gu diogh'ltas, — grain nach searg a chaoidh,

Le misnich uird nach goill gu brath 's nach claon

'S gach Kus 's gach feart uach smachdaichear le buaidh ;

A chliu sin cha toir 'f hearg no 'neart am feasd

Le fbirneart bh'uam, — a lubadh gluin gu lar, —

A ghriosad maitheanais, — a chromadh cinn —

A chumhachd aideach' 's ardachadh mar Dhia —

Noach nach 'eil fada bho na chlisg le sgath

Nach seasadh uachdranachd rom' ghhirdein treun :

Sin cuia bu taire, 's gniomh bu nar ri inns';

(ia rireamh 's e bu mhaslaich anns gach ddigh

o^'an leagadh so ; — bho 'n rinneadh dhomh mar dhan

Nach failnich spionnadh Dia no cruth chorp neamh, —

Bho'n chleachdadh sin a fhuair sinn aims a' chilis

Air cul nan arm cha mhiste, 'sdh'ionnsaich sinu

Bhi seolta, faicillcarh 'san am ri teachd, —

'Nia faedar leinn le dochas buadhach gleachd

Le ceilg no neart, gu siorruith 'chumail 'suas

Gun sith, gun eisimeil ri 'r namhaid borb

18

And him thus answer'd soon his bold compeer:

O Prince, 0 chief of many throned powers
That led th' embattl'd seraphim to war
Under thy conduct, and in dreadful deeds
Fearless, endanger 'd heav'n's perpetual King,
And put to proof his high supremacy ;
Whether upheld by strength, or chance, or fate ;
Too well I see, and rue the dire event,
That with sad overthrow and soul defeat
Hath lost us heav'n ; and all this mighty host
In horrible destruction laid thus low,
As far as gods and heav'nly essences
Can perish : for the mind and spirit remains
Invincible, and vigour soon returns,
Though all our glory, extinct, and happy state
Here swallowed up in endless misery.
But what if he our conqu'ror (whom I now
Of force believe almighty, since no less
Than such could have o'erpower'd such force as ours)
Have left us this our spirit and strength entire,
Strongly to suffer and support our pains,
That we may so suffice his vengeful ire,
Or do him mightier service, as his thralls
By right of war, whate'er his business be
Here in the heart of hell to work in fire,
Or do his errands in the gloomy deep ?
What can it then avail, though yet we feel
Strength undiminish'd, or eternal being,
To undergo eternal punishment ?—
Whereto with speedy words the arch-fiend reply'd :

Fall'n Cherub ! to be weak is miserable
Doing or suffering : But of this be sure,
To do ought good never will be our task,
But ever to do ill our sole delight,
As being the contrary to his high will
Whom we resist. If then his providence
Out of our evil seek to bring forth good,
Our labour must be to pervert that end,
And out of good still to find means of evil ;
Which- oft-times may succeed, so as perhaps
Shall grieve him, if I fail not, and disturb
His inmost counsels from their destin'd aim.
But see, the angry "Victor hath recalled
His ministers of vengeance and pursuit
Back to the gates of heav'n : the sulph'rous hail
Shot afte rus in storm, o'erblown, hath laid
The fiery furge, that from the precipice

19

Tha dearrlan moit gu'n d'thugadh buaidh oiran leis
Mar righ 'na aonar, 's ncamh fo 'smacdd gu teann.

An t-aingcal cealgach labhair le mdr-uaill,
Ged mhiith e snuadh lo goirteas pein 'tis crMdh :
'S gu h-ealamh f hreagair a chomh-f hlath gun sgath :

O Phrionnsa, 'Cheannaird chrun, 'us chumhachd ard,
Leat dh'fhalbh na h-aingil armach suas gu cath
Fod' cheannardachd, 's le euchdaibh baoth gun fhiamh
A cur an cunnart Ard- righ siorruith 'neamh,
'Sa dhearbhadh c'iu 'bha cheannas ard 'ga dhion
Le neart, le tuiteamas, airneo le dan ;
'S e fath mo bhroin meud m' eolais air a chuis,
'S a chasgairt chruaidh a chuir oirnii ruaig le tair,
'Chuir ueamh d'ardith, 's ar feachd bu ghaisgeil colg
'(T an sgathadh sios mar so le sgrios gun bhaigh ;
Cho fad 's is urraiun diathan 's siol nan speur
A dhol a dhith ; ach fathast tha ar beachd
'S ar spioradan do-chiosnaicht', 's thig air ais
Gu grad ar neart, ged tha ar cliil gu leir
'S ar n-aoibhneas sluigte suas le pein gun chrioch.
Ach d£ ma dh'fhag ar Smachdnaiche 'ga dheoin ;
Oir uile-chomasach tha e gun ag,
Air neo cha b' urrainn da ar neart-ne 'chlaoidh ;
Ar cail 's ar n-oidheam slan mar bha iad riabh
A chum 's gu'n seasadh-mid gach cradh gun mheath
'S mar sin gu'n taomte leis cirnn bairachd feirg
*S air iarrtas oibreachadh mar thraillibh fann,
*S le coir a chlaidheamh sinn gu teann fo 'smaig
Am meadhoin Ifrinn ann an teintibh bras,
No ruith air theachdaireachd 's an aigeal dhorch' ?
Am fearrde sinn mata, no 'm buadhnachd dhuinn
A bhi dearbh-bheachdaichte gu'm beil 's gu bith
Ar treoir gun lughdachadh, 's ar bith gun chrioch
A dh'f hullann peiu 'us craidh gu cian nan cian ?
'S am briathraibh deas-chainnteach gu bras 's gu dian,
Gu 'n d'f hreagair an t-Ard-Dhiabhull marbu ghnath :

A Cheriob auf hannaich gu dearbh gur truagh
'Bhi lag-bheairteach am fullannas no 'n gniomh,
Ach as a so bi earbsach, nach dean sinn
Gniomh ceart a chaoidh, 's gu siorruith bi'dh ar miann,
A mhain air drochbheairtibh nach du bhi reir
Ard-thoil an Ti ri'm feum sinn streup gun sith.
Ma dh'f hiachas e lo "i hreasdal mathas buan
A tharruinn suas bho'r cuilbheairtibh 'sbho'r giamh,
Gu'm feum sinn saoithreachadh gun f hois gun tamh,
A los nach soirbhich leis. 's le'r cleasaibh baoth,
Gach gniomh air fheothas tionndar lein gu cronn,
A chuireas duilichinn air uair 'us uair,

20

Of heav'n receiv'd us falling ; and the thunder,

Wing'd with red lightning and impetuous rage,

Perhaps hath spent his shafts, and ceases now

To bellow through the vast and boundless deep;

Let us not slip th' occasion, whether scorn,

Or satiate fury, yield it from our foe.

Seest thou yon' dreary plain, forlorn and wild,

The seat of desolation, void of light,

Save what the glimmering of these livid flames

Casts pale and dreadful ? Thither let us tend

From off the tossing of these fiery waves ;

There rest, if any rest can harbour there :

And re-assembling our afflicted pow'rs,

Consult how we may henceforth most offend

Our enemy, our own loss how repair,

How overcome this dire calamity,

What reinforcement we may gain from hope ;

If not, what resolution from despair.

WHAT'S THE NEWS]?

Whene'er we meet, you nlwavs say,

What's the news? What's the news ?
Pray, what's the order of the day?

What's the news ? W hat's the news ?
Oh ! I have got good news to tell ; —
My Saviour has done all things well,
And triumphed over death and hell — •

That's the news ! That's the news !

The Lamb was slain on Calvary —

That's the news ! That's the news !
To set a world of sinners free —

That's the news ! That's the news !
'Twas there his precious blood was shed,
'Twas there on him our sins were laid,
And now he's risen from the dead —

That's the news ! That's the news !

21

Mar dean e 'n cdrr ; 's mar h-eil e'm chomas stad

A chur air uigh, 's a chomhairlean, gu leir,

A chur air ainreith, 's bun fosceann gu tur.

Ach seall, am Buadhair feargach ghlaodh air ais

Gu dorust Neimh am feachd a bh'air ar tdir,

'S an cathadh garbh a thilgeadh as ar deign

G'ar tachdadh, mhuch le'n neart, na stuadhan dearg

'S an d' rinn sinn tuiteam bho bhruaich aird nan sp6ur :

Ma chaith an tairneanach bu ghairbhsneach toinn,

Air sgiathaibh dealauaich a ghluais le feirg

A ghathean, sguiridh e de'n ranaich ghairg,

*S bidh tumh 'san aigeal tha gun cheann gun chrioch.

Na cailleadhmaid an cothrom, olc air mhaith,

Do'n bheachd 's an d' rinn an namhaid a thoirt duinn.

Am faic thu'n comhnard ud, lorn, duaichuidh, fas,

lonad gach gabhaidh, 'se gun solust ann,

Ach faileus faoin bho lasair chaoirich, ghuirm

Air nial a' bhais ? G'a ionnsuidh teicheamaid

O luasgadh fiadht' nan cair-thonn tcinteach, dearg ;

'S ma '& ait' e anus am faod sinn tamh ri seal,

Gu'n trusar leinn na sloigh a dh'f hogradh uainn,

'S gu'n dearcnaich sinn mu'n t-seol 's an doch' ar gnath

'Bhi miothlachdar do'r namh o'n la so suas,

'Us cia mar dh'f haodar leinn air calldachd fein

A leasachadh, 's an t-olc so 'thionndaidh uainn,

'S mar cuidich dochas sinn le treoir 'n ar ciis,

Gu'n cruadhaich e ar call, — 'sgu brach cha gheil.

CIOD AN SGEUL?

'Nuair thach'reas sinn bidh sibh ag radh,
Ciod an sgeul ? Ciod an sgeul ?
Ciod tha*n diugh a gabhail ait' P

Ciod an sgeul ? Ciod an sgeul ?
'S ann agams' tha'n deadh sgeul r'a luaidh I
' S an obair mhaith rinn Criosd d'a shluagh,
Air bas 's air ifrinn thug e buaidh, —
Sin an sgeul ! Sin an sgeul !

Air Calbhari f huair losa bus,

Sin an sgeul ! Shi an sgeul !
A shaoradh saogh'l fo chiont' bha'n sas!
Sin an sgeul ! Sin an sgeul !
'S ann sin a dhoii t e f huil gu lar —
'S ann sin ar peacadh mheasadh dha, —
Ach dh' eirich e le buaidh on bbas,

Sin an sgeul ! Sin an sgeul !

22

To heaven above the Conqueror's gone —

That's the news ! That's the news !

He's passed triumphant to His throne —

That's the news ! That's the news !

And on that throne He will remain,

Until as Judge He comes again,

Attended by a dazzling train — .

That's the news ! That's the news !

His work's reviving all around —

That's the news ! That's the news !

And many have salvation found —

That's the news ! That's the news !

And since their souls have caught the flame,

They shout Hosanna to his name,

And all around they spread his fame —

That's the news ! That's the news !

The Lord has pardoned all my sin —

That's the news ! That's the news !

I have the witness now within—

That's the news ! That's the news !

And since he took my sins away, .

And taught me how to watch and pray,

I'm happy now from day to day—

That's the news ! That's the news !

And Christ the Lord can save you too —

That's the nffrs ! That's the news !

Your sinful heart He can renew —

That's the news ! That's the news !

This moment, if for sins you grieve—

This moment, if you do believe —

A full acquital you'll receive —

That's the news ! That's the news !

And then, if any one should say,

What's the news ? What's the news ?
O, tell them you've begun to pray —

That's the news ! That's the news !
That you have joined the conquering band,
And now with joy, at God's command,
You're marching to ^he better land —

That's the news ! That's the news .

. 23

A suas gu ueamh le buaiclh chaidh Jos',
Sin an sgeul ! Sin an sgeul !

A's shuidh e 'n sin 'n a chathair-righ,
Sin an sgeul ! Sin an sgeul !

'Nil chathair-rioghail bidh e ghnath

Ach gus an tig e latha bhrath

Le feachd nan neamh leis air gach laimh,
Sin an sgeul! Sin an sgeul !

'Obair tha soirbheachadh 's gach ait',—-

Sin an sgeul ! Sin an sgeul !
Tha moran pheacach 'faotainn slaint',

Sin an sgeul! Sin an sgeul!
'S 'n uair gheibh an anam' bias d'a ghras
Ard sheinnidh iad, Hosaua ! dha,
A' cur an ceill a chliu'sgach ait', —
Sin an sgeul ! Sin an sge'ul !

Shaor losa mise mar an ccudn',

Sin an sgeul ! Sin an. sgeul !

Tha 'n fhianuis agam annam feiri,

Sin an sgeul! Sin an s^eul !

*S on 'thng e saorsa dhomh o dhit',

JS gu faire 's urnuigh 'theagaisg mi,

Tha mi 'an sonas a's an sith,

Sin an sgeul ! Sin an sgeul !

'S urrainn da slaint' a thoirt dhuit fein,
Sin an sgeul! Sin an sgeul!
A's cridhe nuadh 'thoirt mar an ceudn',

Sin an sgeul ! Sin an sgeul !
M'tha fuath do'n pheacadh ann ad' chrV —
Ma tha thu 'creidsmn ann an Criosd,
Gheibh thu Ian shaorsa 'nis o dhit' —
Sin an sgeul ! Sin an sgeul !

'S innis aihoibh-san bhios ag radh,

Ciod an sgeul ? Ciod an sgeul ?
Gu'm bheil thu 'g urnuigh 'nis gach la,
Sin an sgeul'! Sin an sgeul !
Gu'm bheil thu nis 'sa' chuideachd aigh —
A nis fo stiuradh Dhe n'an gras,
'S an t-slighe chum na tlr is fearr

Sin an sgeul ! Sin an sgeul !

24

JOHN GILPIN.

John Gilpin was a citizen

Of credit and renown,
A train -band Captain eke was he

Of famous London town.

John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear,
Though wedded we have been

These twice ten tedious years, yet we
No holiday have seen.

To-morrow is our wedding-day,

And we will then repair
Unto the Bell at Edmonton,

Ml in a chase and pair.

My sister, and my sister's child,

Myself, and children three,
Will fill the chaise ; so you must ride

On horseback after we.

He soon replied, I do admire

Of womankind but one,
And you are she, my dearest dear,

Therefore it shall be done.

I am a linen-draper bold,
As all the world doth know,

And my good friend Tom Calender
Will lend his horse to go.

Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, That's well said ;

And for that wine is dear,
We will be furnish 'd with our own,

"Which is both bright and clear, jgj

John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife ;

O'erjoy'd was he to find,
That though on pleasure she was bent,

She had a frugal mind.

25

IAIX GILPIN.

Iain Gilpiri bba 'n a bhuirdeiseach,

Bu mhoir a chliu, 's a nl;
Ga-n robh e uair 'n a cheannard-ceud,

'Am baile-mor an righ.

Thuirt bean Iain Ghilpin la r'a gradh,
" M' aighear thu 's mo chial],

Ged tha sinn fichead bliadhna posd',
La feilt cha d' ghabh sinn riamh.

" 'S e 'maireaeh la co'-ainm ar bainns'
'S th£id sinn gu sugradh mach,

Slos gus an ruig sinn Edmonton,
'Ancarbad le da each.

" Mo phiuthar 'us a leanabh beag,

Mi fein 's mo thriuir le cheil',
'S a' charbad the'id, 'us leanaidh tus'

A' marcachd as ar deign."

" A bhean mo ghaoil!" ghrad fhreagair e,
" Dhuit fein gu-n d'thug mi gradh

Os ceann gach t6 a tha fo'u ghrein,
'Us gheibh thu mar is Mil.

" Tha mise 'ni mharsanda gu beachd,
Mar 's aithne do gach neach;

'S mo charaid maith, Tom Calender,
Bheir iasad dhomh d'a each."

" Piseach ort," ars' is', " a ghrkidh,

'Us o'n tha 'm fion co daor,
Gu-n toir mi learn mo shearrag f£in,

0 'n tha e maith, 'us saor."

Thug Iain sgailce pbige dh' i,

Mar b' abhaist dha gu trie;
Oir bha e subhach, toilichte,

I»bhi co chrionna, ghlic.

26

The morning came, the chase was brought,

But yet was not allow'd
To drive up to the door, least all

Should say that she was proud.

So three doors off the chaise was stay'd,

Where they did all get in;
Six precious souls, and all agog

To dash through thick and thin.

Smack went the whip, round went the wheels,

Were never folks so glad,
The stones did rattle underneath,

As if Cheapside were mad.

John Gilpin at his horse's side

Seized fast the flowing mane,
And up he got, in haste to ride,

But soon came down again;

For saddle-tree scarce reach'd had he,

His journey to begin,
When turning round his head he saw

Three customers come in.

So down he came; for loss of time,

Although it grieved him sore;
Yet loss of pence, full well he knew,

Would trouble him much more.

'Twas long before the customers

Were suited to their mind,
When Betty screaming came down stairs,

" The wine is left behind!"

" Good luck! " quoth he, " yet bring it me —

My leathern belt likewise,
In which I bear my trusty sword,

When I do exercise."

Now mistress Gilpin (careful soul!)

Had two stone bottles found,
To hold the liquor that she loved,

And keep it safe and sound.

87

Thainig an carbad 'nuas gu moch

'S a' mhaduinn, mar a glieall ;
S ;dr falbh 'na dheann-rnith ghabli e Ie5,
Troiinh eabar, 'us troimh pholl.

Bu shiubhlach luath na cuibhleachaii,
'S a' chuip mu chinas nan each,
.ieadhraich shaoileadh tu gu-n robh
An cabhsair as a bheachd

Sheas Iain Gilpin taobh an eich,

'Us ghlac e 'nihuing gn deas ;
Ach 's gann a fhuair e suas gu h-ard.

'N uair b' elgin teachd air ais.

('ha luaithe rain' e'n diollaid shuas,

'S a shuidh e air an each,
Xa chunnaic e triuir cheannaichean

D'a bhuth a' dol a steach.

Theirinn e, 's cha b'ann d'a dheoin,

Oir bha e dian gu falbh ;
A eh leis an t-sannt cha diiraichdeadh

An sgillinn-ruadh a chall.

Bu mhailiseach na ceannaichean,
Bha greis rnu-n robh iad rdidh;

'N sin Beati ghlaodh a niach gu h-ard,
"Dh' fhhgadh am fiou 'n'ur ddigh!"

Xall e!" ars' Iain, '"s maith an t-am;
Thoir dhomli a nuas mo chrios,
Crios leathair mo dheagh clilaidheimli gh^ir,
'X uair blia mi 'm shaighdear d<

Bha aig bean Ghilpin, (lamh a' ghriiinnd !)

Da shearraig laidir ghlas.
'S am b' abhaist di an donch a b' flic

A chumail teann fo glilais.

28

Each bottle had a curling ear,
Through which the belt he drew,

And hung a bottle on each side,
To make his balance true.

Then over all, that he might be

Equipp'd from top to toe,
His long red cloak, well brash'd and neat,

He manfully did*throw.

Now see him mounted once again

Upon his nimble steed,
Full slowly pacing o'er the stones,

With caution and good heed.

But finding soon a smoother road

Beneath his well-shod feet,
The snorting beast began to trot,

Which gall'd him in his seat.

" So, fair and softly," John he cried,

But John he cried in vain;
That trot became a gallop soon,

In spite of curb and rein.

So stooping down, as needs he must

Who cannot sit upright,
He grasp'd the mane with both his hands,

And eke with all his might.

His horse, who never in that sort

Had handled been before,
What thing upon his back had got

Did wonder more and more.

Away went Gilpin, neck or nought;

Away went hat and wig:
He little dreamt, when he set out,

Of running such a rig.

The dogs did bark, the children scream'd,

Up flew the windows all;
And every soul cried out, "Well done I'*

As loud as he could bawl.

29

Bha aig gach searraig dhiubh fa leth,

Da chluais tre'n deach' an crios;
rhroch o iad mar sin r'a thaobh,

Fear dhiubh air gach leis.

'N a dheaghaidh sin, a chum 's gu-m biodh

E sgeadai elite le sgoinn,
A chleoca maiseach sgarlaid ghabh,

'Us thilg e air a dhmini.

Faic e nis 'n a dhiollaid shuas,

Air niuin an steud eich dhuinn,
Ag iincachd air a' chabhsair chniaidh

Gu socrach, 'us gu ciuiu.

A eh 'n uair a flmair e'n t-slighe rdidh
Fo 'bhr6gaibh cruidheach cruaidh,
rich dh' fhalbh gu trotan garbh
A sharaich Iain tniaigh.

• (in reidh," ars' Iain, "deas d^, 'eich dhuinn;"

Ach labhair e gun fheum,
0 throtan chaidh gu dian-ruith luath,
Gun suiin de mhuiseal sr^in',

e sios, mar dh' im'reas iad
•!L urrainn suidhe suas,
Ghlac e muing an eich gu teann,
'S e 'dol a nis 'n a luath's.

An t-eacli a mhothaich air a dhruini

Uallach cho dcacair iir,
Theich e le geilt; 's mar theich e, dh' fhag

An saoghal air a chiil.

Air falbh chaidh Iain 'n a shradaibh dearg,
Air falhli chaidh 'n ad 's a' ghruag;

Is bong a shaoil an duine c6ir
Dol air a leithid de ruaig.

Chaidh coin gu tatliunn,, 's claim gu sgriach,
Bha cinn a mach 'n an ceud',

•lilaudh gai-h a<m, le 'uilc neart,
" 'S tu ftiu an gille-steud !"

30

Away went Gilpin — who but he !

His fame soon spread around,
"He carries weight! he rides a race!

"Tis for a thousand pounds!"

And still, as fast as he drew near,

'Twas wonderful to view,
How in a trice the turnpike men

Their gates wide open threw.

And now, as he went bowing down

His reeking head full low,
The bottles twain behind his back

Were shatter'd at a blow.

Down ran the wine into the road

Most piteous to be seen,
Which made his horse's flanks to smoke

As they had basted been.

But still he seem'd to carry weight,

With leathern girdle braced
For all might see the bottle-necks

Still dangling at his waist.

Thus all through merry Islington

These gambols he did play,
Until he came into the wash

Of Edmonton so gay;

And there he threw the wash about

On both sides of the way,
Just like unto a trundling mop

Or a wild goose at play .

At Edmonton his loving wife

From the balcony spied
Her tender husband, wondering much

To see how he did ride.

"Stop, stop, John Gilpin! — Here's the house

They all at once did cry;
"The dinner waits, and we are tired;"

Said Gilpin, "So ami!"

31

Air falbh chaidh Iain, co ach e?

Na miltean air a th6ir :
" Is rdis tha 'n so! 's cha lugha 'n geall,

Na mile bonii de'n 6r!"

'S a nis, 'nuair dhluthaich e gu dan'

Air luchd na else cruaidh,
'An tiota thilg iad fosgailte,

A' chachaileith gu luath.

'N uair chrom e sios os ceann an eich
Le 'cheann 'na smuidibh teth,

Bluiail an da shearraig air a chul,
'Us spealg 'n am mile bloidh.

Bu inhuladach an sealladh so,
Am lion dearg mar a dli6irt,
Thug smuid d cliathaich an eich dhuinn,
cheithreamh muilt-fhe6il r6ist'.

Gidheadh blia e mar mharcaiche,

A' niith na rdis le 'chrios ;
T> ainhach na da shearraig ghlais,

Ag udal air a leis.

Mar so troimh bhaile Islington,

Faic e le mire 'triall,
'Us f6s a suas troimh Edmonton,

'S a stigh feadh liib nan giadh.

'S ann 'an sin bha 'phlubartaich,
'S an t-each a' diultadh smachd,

Mar sgaoth de ghe6idh no 'thunnagan
'G an lubradh Mn le tlachd.

Aig uinneig ann an Edmonton
Gu-n d' sheas a bhean a suas,

'Us chunnaic i 'dol seachad e
Le iongantas r'a luath's.

"Stad, stad, Iain Ghilpin, so an tigh !"
Gu-n d' ghlaodh iad uile ris,

"Tha'n dinncir reidh, 's tha snme sgith;
"Cha high'/' ars' Iain, "tha mis'!"

32

But yet his horse was not a whit

Inclined to tarry there!
For why ? — his owner had a house

Full ten miles off, at Ware.

So like an arrow swift he flew,

Shot by an archer strong ;
So did he fly — which brings nie to

The middle of my song.

Away went Gilpin out of breath,

And sore against his will,
Till at his friend, Tom Calender's,

His horse at last stood still.

Tom Calender, amazed to see

His neighbour in such trim,
Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate,

And thus accosted him:

" What news? what news? your tidings tell;

Tell me you must and shall —
Say why bareheaded you are come,

Or why you come at all?"

Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit,

And loved a timely joke ;
And thus unto Tom Calender

In merry guise he spoke;

" I come because your horse would come,

And, if I well forbode,
My hat and wig will soon be here,

They are upon the road."

Tom Calender, right glad to find

His friend in merry pin,
Returned him not a single word,

But to the house went in;

Whence straight he came with hat and wig ;

A wig that flow'd behind,
A hat not much the worse for wear

Each comely in its kind.

33

Ach 's beag an t-suim a ghabh an t-each,

De ghlaodh nam ban gu Idir,
Bha prasach rnhaith a mhaighstir fdin

Deich mil' air falbli aig Ware.

Mar shaighead luath o laiiuh na trc6ir,

O'n iughar righinn, chruaidh,
Gu-n d' theich an t-each — 's tha so 'g am thoirt

Gu dara letli mo dhuain.

Air falbh chaidh Iain le sdideadh ard,
'S gu dearbh clia b' aim d'a dhe6in,

'S aig dorus tigh' Thorn Chalender,
Gu-n d' sheas an t-each faidheoidh.

'N uair chunnaic esan e mar so,

A' teachd gun ad, gun ghruag,
Thilg e 'phlob thombac' air falbh,

'Us ruith e 'mach gii luath.

" Do sgeul, do sgeul — thoir dhomh do sgeul !

Do naigheachd innis dhomh ;
C' arson a tha thu ceann-ruisgte ?

C'arson a tha thu 'n so ?"

Bha Iain Ian a dh' fheala-dhk,

De shugradh beag, 's de chleas,
'S a rdir so ri Tom Calender,

Gu-n d' fhreagair e gu deas ;

" Tha mise 'n so, oir thigeadli d' each,

'S mur 'eil mi 'm fhaidhe brdig',
Bi'dh m' ad 's mo ghruag 'an so gun dail,

Oir tha iad as mo dhtiigh."

Bha solas air Tom Calender,

A charaid 'bhi co ait,
'S cha dubhairt tuille ris 's an am,

Ach thill e stigh gu grad ;

'S a mach gu-n d' thug e ad 'us gruag, —

Gruag mh6r nan dualan cruinn, .
'Us ad a's gann a chuir e riamh

Seachd uairean air a clieann.

34

He held them up, and in his turn

Thus show'd his ready wit,
"My head is twice as big as yours,

They therefore needs must fit.

"But let me scrape the dirt away

That hangs upon your face ;
And stop and eat, for well you may

Be in a hungry case."

Said John, "It is my wedding day,
And all the world would stare,

If wife should dine at Edmonton,
And I should dine at Ware."

So turning to his horse, he said,

" I am in haste to dine;
'Twas for your pleasure I came here

You shall go back for mine."

Ah I luckless speech, and bootless boast !

For which he paid full dear ;
For, while he spake, a braying ass

Did sing most loud and clear;

Whereat his horse did snort, as he

Had heard a lion roar,
And gallop'd off with all his might,

As he had^done before.

Away went Gilpin, and away

Went Gilpia's hat and wig :
He lost them sooner than at first,

For why ? — they were too big.

Now mistress Gilpin, when she saw

Her husband posting down
Into the country far away,

She pull'd out half-a -crown;

And thus unto the youth she said

That drove them to the Bell,
" This shall be yours, when you bring back

My husband safe and well."

35

Chum e suas iad 's tlmbhairt e

Le feala-dha 'n a chainnt ;
" Mo cheannsa tha dha mheud ri d' cheanns',

'Us theld iad ort gun taing.

" Leig dhomh an t-eabar sin 's am poll

A ghlanadh bharr do ghnuis;
Fuirich ri biadh, oir 's cinn teach mi

Gu bheil thu 'call do luis."

"'S e so," ars' Iain, " co'-la mo bhainns',

'S bu sgeigeil e r'a radh,
Gu-m bitheadh mo bhean aig Edmonton

'Us misc 'n so fo phramh."

'N sin labhair Iain ris an each,
" Tha cabhag orm gu m' bhiadh ;

Air d'ailghios thaiuig mise 'n so,
Theld thus' air d'ais do m' riar."

0! b6sd na tubaist' a bha 'n so,

Mar dh' fhiosraich e gun dail;
Oir asail fhad-chluasach bha dluth

'Thug raoichdeil choimheach ard.

Le srann gu-n d' thog an t-each a cheann,
Ceart mar roimh Ie6mhann garg ; •

'S air falbh le 'uile His a ris,
Theich e 'n a shradaibh dearg.

Air falbh chaidh Gilpin, 'us air falbh
Chaidh 'ad 's a ghruag 'n an deann ;

'An tiota thuit iad, chionn gu-n robh
lad motha 's m6r d'a cheann.

'N uair chunnaic bean Iain Ghilpin e

A' marcachd nuas co bras,
Tharruing i 'n sporan sioda mach,

'S bonn leth-chruin thug i as.

JN sin thuirt i ris a charbadair,

;S a cridh' le lomaguin Ikn,
" Gur leatsa so, mo ghille gleusd',

'Us thoir air ais e slan."

36

The youth did ride, and soon did meet

John coming back amain;
Whom in a trice he tried to stop,

By catching at his rein;

But not performing what he meant,
And gladly would have done,

The frightened steed he frighted more,
And made him faster run.

Away went Gilpin, and away

Went postboy at his heels,
The postboy's horse right glad to miss

The lumbering of the wheels.

Six gentlemen upon the road,

Thus seeing Gilpin fly,
With postboy scampering in the rear,

They raised the hue and cry:

"Stop thief! stop thief! — a highwayman;"

Not one of them was mute;
And all and each that pass'd that way

Did join in the pursuit.

And now the turnpike gates again

Flew open in short space;
The toll-men thinking as before,

That Gilpin rode a race.

And so he did, and won it too,

For he got first to town ;
Nor stopp'd till where he had got up

He did again get down.

Now let us sing, Long live the king,

And Gilpin long live he;
And when he next doth ride abroad,

May I be^there to see!

37

Dh' fhalbli e, 's choinnich iad gun dail,

'Us dh' fheuch e 'n t-each a stad,
Ach 'sann a clmir an oidheirp so

An rosad air air fad.

'N uair dh' fhairtlich air'na bha 'n a blieachd

A chur a nis 'an gniomh ;
Gu'n d' chlisg an t-each, 's air falbh gu'n d' theich

Na's luaith' na rinn e riamh.

Air falbh chaidh Gilpin, 'us air falbh

An carbadair co bras,
Gun straoidhlich chuibhleachan 'n a dhdigh,

Gu ineamnach a' dol as.

Bha seathnar uaislean 'chunnaic e

A' teicheadh air an each,
'S an gille-carbaid as a dhdigh,

Gu'n d' ghlaodh iad uile inach,

" Meirleach! meirleach! Glacaibh e!"
Gu'n d' ghlaodh iad dh' iarraidh foir,

'Us dh' fhalbh iad fein 's na chunnaic e
'N an teann-ruith air a th6ir.

'S a rithist dh' fhosgladh dha gu luath

Cachaileith mhor na cis' ;
Oir shaoil na daoine, mar air tus,

Gu 'n robh e 'ruith na r^is.

Bha e mar sin, 'us choisinn e;

Oir fhuair e buaidh le 'luath's :
Cha d' rinn e stad gus 'n d' rainig e

An t-ait' 'an deach' e suas.

Nis seinneamaid fad-shaogh'l do'n righ,

'S air Gilpin gu-n robh agh ;
'S an ath-uair 'theid e 'clmr na re'is,

Bu mhaith learn fe'in 'bhi lathair !

38
THE CLEARING OF THE GLENS.

Oh ! my days have been o'ercast.

With sorrow and with pain,
Since bouny Jeanie Ballantyne

Gaed o'er the roaring main,
To seek a kindly harne

In the western forest free —
Oh ! the world's aye sinsyne

Been a wilderness to me.

Her father's cottage stood

In a sweet secluded glen;
It was theekit o'er wi' moss,

Had a cantie butt and ben ;
And the honeysuckle bloom'd,

And the lily blossom'd fair,
And the mavis and the lark

Thrill'd their sweetest music there.

The daisy gernm'd the sward,

And the gowan glittered round,
And the burnie wimpled by,

With a sweetly-soothing sound;
And Jeauie's angel-voice,

By her father's hallow'd hearth,
Made the cot a bower of bliss —

It was paradise on earth !

And fondly did we love,

With a pure and ardent flame;
For our wishes and our wants,

And our feelings were the same.
From morning's rosy blush

Till the gloaming star was seen,
Seem'd scarcely half an hour

When I wander'd with my Jean.

Her parents both approv'd
Of our mutual love, I ween;

•

39
PASACHADH NAN GLEAXX

Blia mo laithean dubhach, troni,

Le trioblaid agus cradh.
• ') 'n she6l mo Shine bh6kiheach

Gu bronach nunn thar sail',
A dli' iarraidh dachaidh chaomh

'Am measg coilltich fad an iar —
A'.s bha'n saoghal dhomh o 'n trath siu

Mar fhasach udlaidh, cliian.

Bha teach a h-athar gliaoil

Ann an gleannan uaigneach, gonn;
Air a thuthadh leis an fliraoch

A's fo dhlon o fhuachd 's o stoirm ;
Mu'n cuairt da feadh nam bmach

Bha'n lilidh ur fo bhlath,
Agus euulaith bheag nan geug

Sheinn an ceileir binn gach trath.

China an neoinein a's gach blath

Air na h-aileanan mu'n cuairt,
A's an t-alltan beag o 'n sgairn

Ruith le monbhor ard gu luath ;
Agus luinneag Shineag bhlath

Air a' chuibheil a' toirt sreann
Kinn teach a h-athar ghraidh

Cridheil, sugach, anus gach am.

O ! bu teith, 's bu bhuan an gaol

Taobh air thaobh a thug sinn feiii ;
Bha ar n-iarrtais a's ar dith

A's ar faireachdain d'an r^ir.
Bho na dli' direadh grian gu moch

Gus an criochnaicheadh i 'cuairt,
An tiom cha bhiodh ach gearr

'N uair a ghabhainn sraid le m1 luaidh.

A muinntir sheall le baigh
Air a ghradh a thug sum fein ;

40

They minded us in prayer

When the books were ta'en at e'en;
And her mother sniiFd with joy,

While the tear stood in her e'e,
That her darling should be join'd

To a decent youth like me.

Thus contentment, peace, and love,

Sweeten'd a' our daily toil,
Till a stern and stranger lord

Became owner of the soil;
And he gave the fell behest,

That the glen should be "improved :"
And levell'd with the dust

Were the cottages we lov'd!

The neighbours couldna speak,

But they looked up to heaven —
For the judgment on us fell

Like a shower of burning leven;
And the wrinkled, hoary sire

Of fourscore years and ten,
And the baby at the breast,

Were ejected from the glen!

And rustics, in their prime,

Bereft of home and hearth,
Had to bid a long farewell

To the spot which gave them birth;
And they gnash'd their teeth, and cried.

In a deep sepulchral tone —
" Shall vengeance sleep for aye?

It belongs to God alone!"

Oh! what sickness of the soul,

And what bursts of wild despair!
And, alas! unhallow'd words

Fell from many a lip in prayer;
For the mother, with her babes

Shiv'ring houseless at her knee,
Couldna mind the blest command,

"Ye may suffer — but forgi'e."

41

Agus f6s aig cathair gniis

Gliuidh gach la dhuinn beannachd Dht? ;
Bha 'mathair aoiblmeach, ait,

Ged a tlmit o gruaidh an deur,
Gu'm biodh a h-ioghnag choir

P6sd' ri oigfhear mar 'mi fdin.

Bha gradh a's sonas caomh

Air a mheasgadh dhuinn neo-ghann,
Gus an tainig uachd'ran baoth

Air na croitean anns a' ghleann :
Fhuair sinn uile ordugh triall

Gu'n robh'n gleann r'a chur "fo fheidli/'
Agns leagadh sios gu lar

Ar f ardaichean gu lelr !

Bho aon cha chualas sraid,

Ged a sheall iad suas ri neamh —
Oir ain breitheanas so tlmit

Oirnn mar smachdachadh ro gheur;
A's an t-aosda lag a's sgith,

A bha 'g diridh suas ri ciad,
A's na leanabain air a' chich

Chaidh an sganradh fada 's cian J

An 6igridh 'n tr^in' an laith'

Bha nis gun tigh, no tiir,
Agus b' i^igin Mbh gu brath

As an ait' a bha cho chaomh ;
Ghluais fo aimheal a's le fearg

Ged a churn iad orra f&n,
"Ach dioghaltas gu dearbh

Buinidh dhuitse 'mhain, a Dh^ ! "

0 1 bu trioblaideach ar diol,

'Sinn fo mhi-ghean a's fo ghniaimj
Agus b'iomadh guidhe 'sgrios

A chuir cuid a suas 's an uair ;
Oir a' mhathair a's a clann,

Air am meileachadh le fuachd,
Dhearmaid aithne Dhe 's an am,

'•Sinn a mhaitheadh d' ar luchd fuath."

42

But though Jeanie's father griev'd,

O'er his prospects lorn and lone,
Yet he trusted in his God,

And his energy alone;
"There is space on earth," he cried,

"For ouiselves and for our child —
We shall find a cottage-home,

In the dark Canadian wild.

"We'll cut the pristine pine,

And we'll chase the bounding roe,
And we'll urge the slipp'ry sledge,

Over trackless mounds of snow:
And we'll tend our lusty steers

In the forests and the pen,
And we'll snap our fingers, thus, —

At the tyrant of our Glen!"

The fated bark arrived,

For one tide in Allan-bay;
And the exiles steep'd in tears,

Left their native land for aye;
The swelling sails were spread

To the early summer breeze;
And bonny Jeanie Ballantyne

Glides o'er the western seas!

I watch'd the vessel's course,

With a strain'd and watery eye,
Till she dwindled from my sight

Like a speck against the sky:
Oh! the agony I felt

On that inauspicious day,
Was like rending of the soul

From its tenement of clay!

The welkin lower'd around,
And I sunk upon the sod;

But, anon, the earth was spann'd
By the glorious bow of God;

And the scowling clouds dissolv'd
Into fructifying showers;

43

Acli athair Shine ghriini,

Ged a bha fo smalan geur,
Chuir e 'earbsa ann an Dia,

A's na dhichioll tapaidli fein :
•'Tim 'n saoghal m6r gii Ie6ir

Dhuinn f&n 's d'ar leanabh graidh —
Agus gheibh sinn dachaidh thall

Ann an Canada le each.

"Xa craobhan leagaidh nuas,

Agus glacaidh sinn an t-seilg,
Agus falbhaidh sinn gu luath

Air an t-sneachd air slios na leirg;
Agus beathaichaidh an t-al

Feadh nam fasaichean 's nam beann,
A's cha toir sinn buinneag chail

Air fear-fasachaidh nan Gleann !"

Chtinnacas long nan crannag krd

Fad aon lain a stigh 's a bhkgh ;
A's gu dubhach, deurach dh'fhag

Cead gu brath aig tir an graidh ;
Chaidh na siiiil a thogail suas,

A's an oiteag shamhraidh sh^id,
Agus dh' fhalbh mo Shine uam

Thar a' chuain gu duthaich che'm !

0 ! sheall mi as an ddigh

Le suilean deurach, trom,
Gus an cT fhalchaidh iad gu li-ir

Anns an dubhar cul nan tonn ;
0! an trioblaid a's a' phdin

A fhuair mis' air la mo chraidh,
Ion 's ga m' reubadh as a ch&l'

'S a toirt na fe61a bharr mo cbnanih !

Bha 'n t-iarmailt uile gniamach

Agus thuit mi air an lar ;
Ach ri uine dh' fhalbh an duibhre

'S chunnacas bogha Dhd gu h-ard ;
Agus leagh na ne6il bha iidlaidh

Anns na frasan, torach, blath

44

And incense rose to heaven

From the herbage and the flowers.

Then I thought upon the vows

We had vowed in early youth;
That her bosom was the home

Of simplicity and truth;
That a sparrow cannot fall

Save permitted from on high,
And my throbbing bosom swell'd

With a melancholy joy.

I shall join her in the wild,

Where a tyrant may not come;
And together we shall live,

Till we slumber in one tomb;
We shall build a bower of bliss

Far from those busy haunts of men,
Then farewell, — a long farewell

To my native Allan-Glen!

THE MESSIAH.

Who hath our report believed ?
Shiloh come is not received,

Not received by his own:
Promised branch from root of Jesse,
David's offspring sent to bless you,

Comes too lowly to be known,

Tell me, 0 thou favour'd nation,
What is thy fond expectation?

Some fair-spreading lofty tree?
Let not worldly pride confound thee:
'Along the lowly plants around thee,

Mark the lowest — that is he.

Like a tender plant that's growing
Where no waters kindly flowing.

45

Agus dh' dirich tiiis gu neamh
Bho gach luibh a's blath bha 'fks.

'N sin chuimhnich mi mu'n ghaol

Taobh air thaobli a thug 'n ar n-6ig' ;
A's an Sine nach robh ceilg

Ach firinn ghlan gun gh6 ;
A's nach tuit an t-eunan beag

Ach mar cheadaichear o'n aird,
A's mo chridhe bhuail neo-throm,

Ged a bha mi car fo phramh.

Agus coinuichidh sinn a chell'

Far nach tig gu brath fear-fuath,
Agus meallaidh sinn a chdil'

Gus an caidil sinn 's an uaigh ;
Agus sgail-tliigh cuiridh suas

Fada, ciann, o thuiueadh chaich
'An sin soraidh slan gu buan

Do mo ghleannau uaigneach, grai dh !

AM MESIAH.

C6 a ghabh r'ar sgeul mar fhirinn ?
Siloh thkinig ach fo dhimeas —

Fo dhimeas le dhilsean fdin :
Bho fhreumh lese faic a' teachd e,
Gineil Dhaibhidh 'shaoradh pheacach,

Ach ro bhochd gu'm biodh dheth spdis.

A chinnich, d'an do nochdadh deadh-ghean,
('i')d a tha thu 'n duil r'a fhaotainn ?

Ard chraobh sgaoilteach 's uaine barr ?
Na leig uabhar talmhaidh 'n uachdar —
'Measg nan geugan 6g' mu'n cuairt duit,

'S e is suarraiche na each.

Amhuil lusan maoth droch-shnuadhach,
'S e gun drtichd, gun fhras, gun fhuaran,

46

No kind rains refresh the ground:
Drooping, dying, ye shall view him,
See no charms to draw you to him;

There no beauty will be found.

Lo! Messiah uninspected,
Man of griefs, despis'd rejected,

Wounds his form disfiguring :
Marr'd his visage more than any,
For he bears the sins of many,

All our sorrows carrying.

No deceit his mouth had spoken,
Blameless he no law had broken,

Yet was number'd with the worst :
For, because the Lord would grieve him,
Ye who saw it did believe him,

For his own offences curs'd.

But while him our thoughts accused,
He for us alone was bruised,

Yea, for us the victim bled!
With his stripes our wounds are cured,
By his pains our peace secured,

Purchas'd with the blood he shed.

Love amazing, so to mind us,
Shepherd come from heav'n to find us,

Wand'ring sheep all gone astray ;
Lost, undone by our transgressions,
Worse than stript of all possessions,

Debtors without hope to pay.

Death our portion; slaves in spirit;
He redeem'd us by his merit,

To a glorious liberty.
Dearly first his goodness bought us,
Truth and love then sweetly taught us,

Truth and love had made us free.

( i lory be to him who gave us —
Freely gave his Son to save us!

47

Ann am fearann fiiaraidh, teann :
Brbnach, basmhor, biclli 'n 'ur sail e,
(J\in aon bhuaidh g'ur tarruing dluth air ;

Aileaclid gniiis' cha 'n fhaicear aim.

Feuch I Mesiah 'fulang tamailt,
Duine brdnach, trdigte, cainte,

'S aghaidh ailidh air a Ie6n :
Rinn mi-dhreach a ghniiis a chaochladL.
'X uair a sheas e 'naite dhaoine,

Thoirt sgeul-saorsa do gacli slogh.

Cha do labliair ceilg le 'bheul e,

'S cha do bhriseadh reachdan Dhd leis,

Ged a cheus iad c mar dhaoi :
' N uair a dh'eirich fearg a Dh4 ris,
Sil.hse 'chunnaig mheas gii'm b' fheudar

Gu'n robh euceart fdin Jg a chlaoidh.

Ach 'nuair chasaideadh gu geur e,
JShcas 'na aonar e 'n ar n-eiric —

Leig 'n ar n-diric 'anam sios !
Trid a bhuillean sinnc Idighseadh,
'S fhuair sinn sith do thrid a chreuchdan—

Seulaichte le fuil a chridh'.

Gradh gun samhladh 'rinn oirnn trocaii
Buachail' chuir o neamh g' ar torachd,

Caoirich thruagh air fuadan cian ;
Millte, caillte leis a' pheacadh,
Olc, 's cha 'n e bhi ruisgte, crecachta,

Fiachairean an laimh aig Dia.

Marbh 'am peacadh, 's aoint' ri truaighe,
Rathad fuasglaidh trld-san fhuair sinn,

Chum na saorsa tha bith-bhuan.
Cheannaich e air tiis gu daor sinn,
'S theagaisg e le 'bhriathran caoin sinn,

'S thug 'n a ghaol dhuinn cridhe nuadh.

Gl6ir a bhi do'n ti 'thug uaitlie
Mac a ghaoil a shaoradh thruaghan !

48

Glory to the Son who came!
Honour, blessing, adoration,
Ever from the whole creation,

Be to God, and to the Lamb!

PHARAOH.

See the monarch of Egypt, he musters his host,
And marcheth them vauntingly out to the coast ;
All his banners unfurled, and his standards displayed,
With pride uncontrolled and despotic parade,

See the Israelites flee, how they tremble and fear !
While the foe, with barbarity, howl in their rear :—
" In the pride of my heart, with the strength of my hand
I shall sweep in the ocean this fugitive band,

" Not a man shall survive, not a remnant remain —
A disgrace to a king, to my kingdom a stain ;
The wicked, proud rebels, have stolen and fled,
Then woe and destruction be swift on their head."

The princes and people together conspire,
And the king goads them on in the flush of his ire;
The chariots drive faster, urged on is the steed,
And the horsemen exult in the flight of their speed.

All is bustle and hurry, and fury, and haste,
As they sweep like the whirlwind over the waste.
Through the pillar of cloud and the pillar of fire
The God of his chosen looked down in his ire.

The Red Sea divides, and the waters stand high
As a wall on each side, and a passage supply ;
When the people of God unmoved descend,
And firm on the ocean-bed fearlessly wend.

The thousands of Israel get safely to land,
While the armies of Egypt sink deep in the sand ;
Now the high wall of waters return and enclose
The might and the muster of Israel's proud foes.

Now Egypt's stern warriors are sunk in the deep,
And Egypt, her king and her glory may weep ;
For there, like the ocean- weeds spread on the coast,
Lie the king of the Nile and his numberless host.

49

G16ir do'n Mhac a thainig 'nuas !
Moladh agus gl6ir le chdile,
Tuilleadh o na h-uile creutair,

Biodh do Dhia agus do'u Uan.

PHARAOH.

Faic uachdran na h-Eiphit air toiseach a shluaigh
Gu bosdail '# an treorach' a mach gus a' chuan :
A bhratach a' srannraich ri crann aig gu h-ard,
Le uabhar a' tocadh air toir a chuid thriill.

Faic na h-Israelich dhlblidh fo mhisjhean 's fo bhrdn,
'S an naimhdean cho breun le aon eigh air an toir :
"Ann an uabhar mo chridhe, 's le in' spionnadh ro threun,
Am prasgan so sguabaidh do'n chuan iad gu leu*.

Cha teid aon aca as, 's cha mhair iarmad diubh beb —
'N am masladh do'n righ a's do m' iochdrain-sa fos ;
Na ceannaircich uamharr' le goid agus foill,
Nis 16ir-sgrios a's dosguinn thig orra gun mhoill.

Na prionnsan 's am pobull tha'n co-bhoinn le che"iT,

*S an righ tha 'g an iomain mar neach as a cheill,

Na carbaid tha 'n deifir, 's gach stead anns an toir,

'S a neart an cuid eachraidh tha 'm marc-shluagh ri boftd.

Tha iad uile 'n an siubhal 's air bhoile ro chruaidh,
Mar a', chuairt-ghaoith tha 'n imeachd thar chomhnard a*§
Ach sheall Dia ro ghruamach o dhubhar an neoil [chruacb;
Air luchd-casgraidh a shluaigh 'bha cho luath air an toir,

Ach dh'fhosgail a1 mhuir, 's sheas na h-uisgeachan suas
Mar bhalla gach taobh a chum tearmunn d'a shluagh ;
Agus pobull lehobhah, le muinghinn, chaidh sios,
'S thar griuneal an aigein f huair rathad gu tlr.

Fhuair miltean chloinn Israeil gu tearuinte null,
Ach feachdaibh na h-Eiphit chaidh fodha 's a' ghnin ;
A's an t-uisge 'rinn seasamh mar challaid a jsuas
Air na h-Eiphitich phill, agus sgrios iad 'n an uaill.

Fir-chogaidh na h-Eiphit chaidh fodha gu l&r,
'S am banntraichean oga tha bronach 'n an deigh ;
A nis mar an f heamainn tha sgaipt' air an tr.iigh
Tha Pharaoh 'sa mharc-shluagh an cadal a' bh&is.

50

LITTLE MARY TURNER.

Your little Mary now is gone,

Gone like a flower in May;
For death came like a killing frost,

And nipt her life away.

How short the time since last she sat,

A prattler on the knee;
A happy little laughing thing,

So full of childish glee.

Sore, sore, you'll miss her pattering feet.

Upon the dwelling floor;
No more she'll run with joyful step,

To meet you at the door.

Xo more her little loving arms

Around you she will clasp;
For now they 're cold and motionless •

In death's unyielding grasp.

Hut hold! my friends, we ever look

Upon the darkest side;
Just think of little Mary now,

A spirit glorified.

Dry up your tears — yea, and rejoice

That all her pain is o'er ;
And that she has arrived in peace

On yonder happy shore.

Your little Mary 's happy now,

For she is safe at home;
Just think she's there to welcome you,

When you, her friends, shall come.

Then all the trials you endure,
How light they all shall seem;

And also all the joys of earth,
Just like a fleeting dream.

O! could you look within the veil,
And your dear Mary see,

51

MAIRI BHEAG TUAIRNEIR.

Dh'fhalbh tlm, 'Mhairi, 'uain gu brath,
A's shearg thu mar am blath ;

Thainig am has mar reodhadh fuar,
A's sheac thu 'sios gun dail.

Cha-ii 'cil e leam ach mar an d£

O'n bha i air do ghlun,
Gu beothal, eutrom, suilbhir, ait,

Ged tha i 'n diugli fo 'n iiir.

Is m6r an ionndrainn nis gach trath,

A ceum cha tig dlmit dluth ;
A's tuille 'm feasd cha ruith i 'inach

Ad c6mhlachadh le miiirn.

'S cha ghlac i thu 'na lamhan beag

Gu tlusor, mar bu ghnath,
Oir tha iad 'nis gun luths, gun neart,

Fo cheangal teann a' bhais !

Ach tosd ! mo chairdean, 's tionndaibh 'nis
Bho choslas dorch' na h-uaigh',

A's faicibh Mairi shuas air n^amh
'An cuideachd Dh4 's an Uain.

Bho 'r suilibh siabaibh f6s gach deur

Le h-aiteas air a sgath ;
Oir fhuair i saors' o 'sarachadh,

A's fuasgladh o gach cas.

Do Mhairi bheag tha sona 'nis —

A dachaidh rainig shuas;
5S le aiteas c6inhlaichidh thu 'n sin,

Ma leanas tusa 'n t-Uan.

Gach saracliadh a fhuair thu bhos

"An sin l»idh i'aoin leat fi'iu;
As f<v)s gach solas talmhaidh bidh

Mar bhruadar dhuit gu l^ir.

Na-in faiceadh sibh a nis a h-agh,
'S cho g!6rmhor 's a tha i,

52

Arrayed in the white spotless robe,
And filled with ecstasy.

A golden crown upon her head,

A harp within her hand,
Among yon happy children dear,

Who round the throne do stand.

And there, in holy loveliness,

She will for ever grow;
No sin can mar her happiness,

As it does ours below.

She eats the fruit of endless life,
Which Jesus' hands bestow;

He leads her to the rivers sweet,
Where living waters flow.

Then let us not repine, my friends,

When ties are broken here;
If they are only called from hence

To fill a higher sphere.

Each tie that 's loosed, is meant to bind

Us nearer to our God;
To loose our hold of earthly things,

And walk the narrow road.

May this and every trial sent

To you be sanctified;
And from the furnace may you come

Like gold that 's purified.

A CRY FROM CRAIGELLACHIE.

Land of Bens, and Glens, and Corries,
Headlong rivers, ocean floods !

Have we lived to see this outrage
On your haughty solitudes?

Yea ! there burst invaders stronger,
On the mountain barriered land,

53

'S i c6mhdaichte le trusgan geal,
'An aoibhneas 'tha gun chrioch.

Le crun neo-thruaillidh air a ceann,
A's clarsach 6ir air ghleus ;

'An caidreamh graidh na cloinne sin
'Tha 'cuartach' cathair

A's ann am maisc 's ann an agh

'Nis fasaidh i gu h-ard;
Oir peacadh, freuinh gach tniaighe 's craidh,

Cha t&d a suas gu brath.

Do chraobh na beatha blaisidh i

Bho lamhan losa fein ;
A's olaidh i do'n uisge bhe6

Bheir s6las feadh gach rd.

Mo chairdean, feuch gu-n striochd sibh 'nis
'N uair bhrisear bannan graidh ;

Oir ged a dhealaich sinn a bhos
Gu-n c6mhlaich sinn gu h-ard.

Gach snaom a dh'fhuasglar leis a bhos

'S e run gu-n tath gu h ard —
'S *n uair bheir e s6lais thalmhaidh 'uain

Gu-n gluaiseamaid 'na ghradh,

Gach sarachadh a's deuchaiun gheur
Gu-n naomhaicheadh dhuibh f6s;

'S o amhuinn theith na h-amhghair chruaidh
Bheir sibh a mach mar 6r.

EIGH BHO CHREIG-EILEACHAIDH.

Thir nam Beann, nan Gleann, 'snan Coire,
Nan sruth cas, 's nan tuiltean m6r',

Loinn cha d' shaoil gu'm faict' an caramhs'
Air do fhridhean ard' r'ar be6.

Fcuch a nise feachd a's tr&ne

Na feachd Chromaeill nan geur-lann —

54

Than the Ironsides of Cromwell,
Or the bloody Cumberland!

Spanning Tay and curbing Tummel,

Hewing with rude mattocks down
Killiecrankie's birchen chasm,

What reck they of old renown!

Cherished names ! how disenchanted !

Hark the Railway Porter roar,
Ho ! Blair-athple ! Dalnaspidal !

Ho ! Dalwhinnie ! Aviemore !

Garry, cribbed with mound and rampart,

Up his chafing bed we sweep,
Scare from his lone lochan cradle

The charmed immemorial sleep.

Grisly, storm resounding Badenoch,

With grey boulders scattered o'er,
And cairns of forgotten battles,

Is a wilderness no more.

Hal we start the ancient silence,

Thundering down the long incline
On Strathspey and Rothiemurchus,

Forests of primaeval pine.

Boar of Badenoch ! Sow of Athole !

Hill by hill behind we cast,
Rock, and craig, and moorland reeling, —

Scarce Craigellachie stands fast.*

Dark Glen More and clov'n Glen Feahie,

Loud along these desolate tracts,
Hear the shriek of whistle louder

Than their headlong cataracts.

Strange to them the train — but stranger
The mixed throng it huddles forth —

Strand and Piccadilly emptied
On the much enduring North.

Stand fast Craigellachie," is the war-cry of the Clan Grant.

55

'S colgarra na feachd Dhiuc Uilleim
'Teach d mar thuil air Tir nam beann!

'Crasgadh Thatha, 'casgadh Theamhuill,

'Snaigheadh sios le buillean treun'
Glacan beithe Coille-Chragaidh,

'Magadh air an cliu o chdiii!

Ainmean caomh' ! Ach dh' fhalbh an dniidheachd !

Cluinn 'g an eigheach gill' an Rbid,
Blar-an-Adholl! Dail-an-Spideil !

Feuch Dail-Chuinnidh ! Agaidh-mh6r!

Gairidh druidt' le torr 'us daingnicli,
Stead sinn suas 'n ar deann r'a taobh,

Tuadachadh a chaoidh o 'lochan
Codal tosdach nan linn aosd'.

Baideanach nan gaillipnn fiadhaich,
Anns an lionmhor liath-chlach mh6r,

'S carragh-cuimhne bhlaran fuilteach —
Uaigneach cha bhi 'cnuic ni's m6.

Ghluais sinn tosdachd chian nan ard-bheann,

'Steudadh sios an gleann le gaoir,
Air Srath-Spe' 'us Ratamhurchuis —

Fridhean ard' nan giuthas aosd'.

'Mhuc 's an Tore* theich as 'n an deann-ruith !

Beinn ri beinn gu teann a' stri !
Sg6rr, 'us creag, 'us sliabh a' ruidhleadh —

'Sgann a "sheas Creag-Eileachaidh!"

'Sa' Ghleann-mh6r, 'n Gleann-Feishidh uaigneach,

Suas air fad an cluaintean glas',
Cluinnear sgal an fheadain bhuaireant',

'S airde fuaim na 'n easan cas'.

Carbaid iaruinn ged is ne6nach,

'S ne6naiche an I6d do shluagh —
Srkidean Lunnuinn air an taomadh

Mach air raointean an Tadibh-Tuath !

Sow of Atholl and Boar of Badenoch, two contiguous moui.t:un>.

56

Cockneys, Frenchmen, swells, and tourists,
Motley-garbed and garish crew !

Belted pouches, knickerbockers,
Silken hose and patent shoe.

While from carriage-window gazing,
Eye-glassed damsels, yawning, drawl,

" Strange these names of yours — Braeriach,
Ben-Mac-Dhui, Cairntoul."

What to them are birk-tree fragrance,
Pine-wood scents, moss-myrtle balm !

What the burns down corries sounding,
Or the solemn mountain calm!

Point not them to Loch-an-Eilan,
Lochindorbh's grim island hold :

Tell them not wild tales of Comyn,
Or the Badenoch Wolf of old.'

0 Cairngoram ! 0 Braeriach !

Roll ye blinding swathes of cloud
Down your crags, that these insult not

Your majestic foreheads proud.

On, still on — let drear Culloden
For clan-slogans hear this scream,

Shake, ye woods ! by Beauly river, —
Start, thou beauty-haunted Dhruim !

Northward still the iron horses,

Naught may stay their destined path,

Till their snort, by Pentland surges,
Stun the cliffs of far Cape Wrath.

Must they pass, quite disappearing
From their glens, the ancient Gael?

In and in must Saxon struggle?
Southron, Cockney more prevail !

Clans long gone, and pibrochs going,

Shall the patriarchal tongue
From these mountains fade for ever,

With its names and memories hung ?

57

Sas'naich, Frangaich, spailp, 's luchd-turuis,

Ann an uidheam do gach li !
Brigis fharsuinn, p6can leathraich,

Br6gan lainn'reach, 's osain shied' !

'S anns 's gach uinneag carbaid, maighdean
'G radh, 's i 'sealltuinn suas gu dian :

" 'S ainmean ne5nach Carn-an-t-sabhail,
Beinn-mac-duthaidh, 's am Braigh'-ria'ch ! "

'S beag an sgoinns' do'n bholtrach chubhraidh

'Dh' e'ireas ur o lus 's o chrann,
'S uillt a' ruith feadh ghleann gu fuaimneach,

'S tosdachd shMuimt' bhuan nam beann !

'S coma Ie6-san Loch-an-eilein,

Loch-nan-doirb, 's a dhaingneach liath,

'N Cuimeaiiach 'us 'euchdan gabhaidh,
'S Faol-chu Bhaideanaich o chian.

0 Chuirn-ghuirm ! 'Us thus', Bhraigh'-riabhaich I

Tilgibh sios mu 'r creagan ne6il,
Chum nach dean na daormuinn thruagha

Tarcuis air 'ur cruachan m6r'.

'Steudadh seach ! Cluinneadh Cuil-fhodair,
'N ait' gairm-chogaidh Threubh, an fhuaims' :

Criothnaicheadh gach coill' mu'n Mhan'chuinn —
Dhruim, mu'n iadh gach aille, gluais-s' !

'Sior-dhol tuath, a chaoidh cha srianar
Na h-eich iaruinn 'n an steud dheirg,

Gus am b6dhrar le an srannail
Creagan geala Rudh'-na-Feirg'.

'Nfheudar buileach do na Gaidheil
Triall o 'n arois 'measg nan gleann ?

'Chuid 's a chuid an saltair Sas'naich
Tur fo 'n casan Tir nam beann?

Fineachan a chean' air dibreadh,

Ce6l na piob' 'dol as gu luath ;
'M basaich tur a Tir nan ard-bheann

Gailig kghmhor aosd' nam buadh ?

58

Oh! you say, it little recketh,

Let the ancient manners go,
Heaven will work through their destroying

Some end greater than you know !

Be it so ! but will Invention,

With her smooth mechanic arts,
Raise, when gone, the Highland warriors,

Bring again warm Highland hearts.2

Nay ! whate'er of good they herald,

Wheresb comes that hideous roar,
The old charm is disenchanted,

The old Highlands are no more!

Yet, I know, there lie, all lonely,
Still to feed thought's loftiest mood,

Countless glens, undesecrated, —
Many an awful solitude!

Many a burn in unknown corries
Down dark linns the white foam flings,

Fringed with ruddy-berried rowans,
Fed from everlasting springs.

Still there sleep unnumbered lochans,

Craig-begirt mid deserts dumb,
Where no human road yet travels,

Never tourist's foot hath come !

Many a Scuir, like bald sea-eagle,
Scalped all white with boulder piles,

Stands against the sunset, eyeing
Ocean and the utmost Isles.

If e'en these should fail, I'll get me
To some rock roared round by seas,

There to drink calm nature's freedom,
Till they bridge the Hebrides !

[The above was written by Professor Shairp of St. Andrews,
after travelling for the first time to Inverness by the Highland
Railway, August, 18G1]

59

" 'S coma," 'deir thu, "ged a rachadh
Na seann chleachdaidhean air cul,

Bheir an Triath gu buil tre 'n sgrios-san
Criochan ris nach 'eil do dbiiil ! "

Feudaidh sin 'bhi ; acb 'n toir Innleacbd,

Le a h-ealdbain mhin 's a suas,
Treun-laoicb cholo-arra nan ard-bheann,

No 'n seann chairdeas ris air ais?

Ni h-eadb ; acli db' ainde6in am buannacbd
Far an d' tbig an cruaidh-ghaoir bhreun,

Db' fbalbb gu tur a' bbuaidb 's an druidheachd,
'S cha bhi 'Ghaidh'ltachd chaoidb i fein !

Ach tba fatbast glacan bruacbach
'Dhuisgeas annam smuaintean ard',

'S ^liun gun aireamb nach do tbniailleadh,
'S iomadh ditbreabb uamhalt fh,as;

allt 'an coirean uaigneach,
Bho sheann fhuarain 'g ^iridh suas,
Taomadh 'n linnean dorcb' an uisge,
'S caorann ruiteach air gacb bmaich;

Iomadh loch, le creagan cuairticbt',

'Tamh gun bbruaillean 'measg nam beann,

Air nach d' thkinig slighe duine,
No fear-turuis fathast teann ;

Iomadh sgorr, mar iolair mhara,
Suas fa chomhair laidhe gr£in',

Geal-cheannach le stuchdan cruachacb,
'Beachdach' 'chuain 's nan Eilean ce'in.

Failnicheadh iad sin, 'us thdid mi
Gu creig digin 'measg nan stuadh,

'Mbealtuinn lan-shaors', gus an crocbar
Drochaidean os-cionn a' chuain!

60

THE FOUNTAIN OPENED.

"hi that day there shall be a fountain opened to the hou.se
•f David, and to the inhabitants of Jerusalem, for sin and for
uucleauness." — Zechariah, xiii. 1.

From Sion's holy mountain

The tidings loud proclaim;
The Lord hath op'd a fountain,

Salvation is its name :
Its purifying waters,

The house of David know,
And Salem's sons and daughters,

There wash'd, are white as snow.

From sin and from uncleauness

That fountain can redeem;
There age may find fresh greenness,

Thence youth with wisdom teem :
The blind and deaf, there drinking,

At once both see and hear;
The lame, with feet unshrinking,

Are swift, as is the deer.

The dumb, who seek in sadness

That water's living spring,
In grateful songs of gladness

Its hallowed praises sing.
Breaking each chain asunder,

That fount can freedom give;
And, all-surpassing wonder,

Hath caus'd the dead to live!

"Whence flows this tide of healing,

That does such wond'rous things?
Oh ! haste, its source revealing,

That I may seek its springs."
Sinner, thy prayer is granted,

It flows from Jesu's side;
Thence, whatsoe'er is wanted,

To man will be supplied.

61

AN TOBAB, AIR FHOSGLADH.

"Anns an Id sin bidh tobar air 'fhosgladh do thig Dhaibhidh,
agus do luchd-diteachaidh lerusaleim, air son peacaidh agus air
sou neo-ghloine." — Sechariah, xiii. 1.

Bho thulaich naomha Shion

An soisgeul cuir an cdill;
Oir tobar dh'fhosgail los' ann,

'S e slaint' a's ainm dha f&n :
An e"ifeachd tha san uisge,

Do theaghlach Dhaibhidh 's e61,
A's mic a:s oighean Shaileim

Ann nigh, 's tha glan mar 6r.

Bho pheacadh a's o neo-ghloin'

Gu'n glan an tobar aigh,
Air aois thig blath na h-6ige,

'S gheibh oigridh uaithe gras :
Am balbh 's an dall, ma dh'61as,

Gheibh claisteachd 's fradharc shul ;
'S an criibach lag gheibh tre6ir ann,

'S gu'n leum mar mhang nan stuchd.

Gu dubhach, ged thig balbhaiu,

Gu sruth an uisge bhe6,
Le 6rain bhinn neo-chearbach

Gu'n seinn a' chliu le ce6l.
Gach ceangal cruaiclh ni fhuasgladh,

A's buaidh bheir e 's gach cas ;
A's, ni chaidh thar ar smuaintean,

Na mairbh gu'n diiisg o'n bhas!

"Cia as tha 'n sruth so 'ge'iridh,

'S am bheil an difeachd ch6rr?
Gu h-ealamh cuir an cdill domh,

'Sgu'n rachain air a th6ir."
Do ghuidhe fhuair thu, 'pheacaich,

Tha 'n sruth o lotan los' ;
A's na bheil ort a dh'easbhuidh,

Gu pailt gheibh thu gu sior.

COMFORT UNDER AFFLICTION.

When gathering clouds around I view,
And days are dark, and friends are few,
On Him I lean, who, not in vain,
Experienced every human pain:
He sees my griefs, allays my fears,
And counts and treasures up my tears.

If aught should tempt my soul to stray
From heavenly wisdom's narrow way;
To fly the good I would pursue,
Or do the thing I should not do;
Still He, who felt temptation's pow'r,
Shall guard me in that evil hour.

If wounded love my bosom swell,
Despis'd by those I prized too well;
He shall his pitying aid bestow,
Who felt on earth severer woe;
At once betray'd, deny'd, or fled,
By those who shar'd his daily bread.

When vexing thoughts within me rise,
And, sore dismayed, my spirit dies;
Yet He who once vouchsaf'd to bear
The sick'ning anguish of despair,
Shall sweetly soothe, shall gently dry,
The throbbing heart, the streaming eye.

When mourning o'er some stone I bend,
Which covers all that was a friend;
And from his voice, his hand, his smile,
Divides me for a little while ;
Thou, Saviour, mark'st the tears I shed,
For thou didst weep o'er Lazarus dead.

And, oh! when I have safely past
Through every conflict but the last;
Still, still, unchanging, watch beside
My painful bed — for thou hast died;
Then point to realms of cloudless day,
And wipe the latest tear away.

63

COMHFHURTACHD 'AN AMHGHAR.

'N uair bhios na neoil a'm' speur a' gleachd,
Xa, laithean dorch' 's na cairdean tearc,
Mo thaic' bidh ris-san, ami na ghaol,
A dh'iomachair nil' femhghar dhaoin' :
Dha m' eagail 's m' uireasbliuidhean 's leur.
"S leis cunntar 's taisgear suas gach deur.

Gu seachran ma bhios m' anam buairt'
Bho cheum an ionracais 's na stuaim ;
A sheachanadli a' mhaitli bha 'm shuil,
No' u rud a dheanamh nacli robh'm run;
An Ti a bhuadhaich air gach namh,
Cmnaidh suas mi 'sa' chruaidh-chas.

An uair bhios m' acain trom a thaobh

Gu'n d' thionndaidh fallsa luchd mo ghaoil ;

N i esan comhnadh leam e f&n

A dh'f hulling uilc bu mh6 fo 'n ghrdin ;

Tr&gte agus bratht' d'a naimh'

Le6san a dh'ith 's a dh'61 bho laimh.

N uair dh'&reas smuaintean goirt a'm chridli',
'S a leagas uamhas m' anam sios;
An Ti, aon uair, a chluas a liib
(TU caoin ri cnead a' chridhe bhriiit ;
Ni 'n deur gu caomh a shiab' o'n ghruaidh,
\< inisneach chur san anam bhuairt'.

X uair chrom, le br6n, mi taobh na h-uaigh
'S an tamh na th'ann a nis do'm luaidh,
'S le 'n sgarar uam an traths' a shuil,
A lamh, a ghuth, a's aoibh a ghniiis;
Mo dhcuraibh dhuitse, 'Shlan'ghir, 'sleur,
Oir ghuil thar Lasaruis thu fdin.

A's, 0! 'n uair bhios mi rd do'n t-saoghal,

Taobh thall gach deuchaiuu ach an t-aon,

Cum tlmsa 'n sin mo mhisneach suas,

Oir luidh thu fdiu fo 'n bhas car uair;

A's feuch dhomh 'n tir 's nach crom a' ghrian.

'S o m' ghruaidh an deur mu dheireadh siaV

64

THE LAND OF PROMISE.

Methinks I stand upon the rock

Where Balaam stood, and wond'ring look

Upon the scene below ;
The tents of Jacob goodly seem,
The people happy I esteem,

Whom God has favour'd so.

The sons of Israel stand alone,
Jehovah claims them for his own,

His cause and their's the same :
He saved them from the tyrant's hand,
Allots to them a pleasant land,

And calls them by his name.

Their toils have almost reach' d a close,
And soon they're destined to repose

Within the promised land;
Even now its rising hills are seen,r
Enrich'd with everlasting green,

Where Israel soon shall stand.

O ! Israel, who is like to thee ?
A people saved, and call'd to be

Peculiar to the Lord!
Thy shield! he guards thee from thy foes,
Thy sword! he fights thy battles too;

Himself thy great reward.

Fear not, though many should oppose,
For God is stronger than thy foes,

And makes thy cause his own:
The promised land before thee lies,
Go up, and take the glorious prize

Reserved for thee alone.

In glory there the King appears;
He wipes away his people's tears,

And makes their sorrows cease;
From toil and strife they there repose,
And dwell secure from all their

In everlasting peace.

65

FEARANN A' GHEALLAIDH

Ar learn gu'n d' sheas mi air an t-sliabh
Bho 'n d' sheall Balaam nuas o chian

Air buidhnean Israeli :
Tha buthaibh lacoib ailidh, grinn,
Is sona 'm ppbull sin air chinnt,

A fhuair deadh-ghean an De".

Na h-Israeilich tha 'n sud Ie6 fe'in,
Aig Dia tha c6ir orra gu l&r,

'S e 'n aobhar aobhar Dh£ :
Bho lamh an namhaid thug iad saor,
'S an crannchur thug e do gach aon,

A's dh'ainmich iad air fe'in.

Tlui'n sarachadh ach beag aig ceann,
'S an iii ne ghearr gheibh fois nach gann

Sail tir a gheall o chian :
A beanntan arda chi mi 'n ce'in,
Is uror, aillidh iad gu le'ir,

'S ann gheibh iad fois gach ialL

C6's cosmhail riut am measg chloinn-daoin' ?
Pobull a ghairm 'sa thug e saor,

'Tha sonruicht' thar gach seors' !
'Se fe'in do sgiath ni dion 's gach cas ;
Do chlaidheamh chasgras gach namh ;

'S do dhuais ata ro mh6r!

Fo gheilt na bi ged bhagras b&s,
Oir 'streise Dia gu m6r na each,

A Ikmhsan tha ro threun :
Yh.i tir a' gheallaidh sgaoilt a mach,
Gabh suas gun dail a's rach a steach

Do'n oighreachd a's leat fe'in.

X a mliorachd chi thu fe'in an Triath,
A's br6n cha chlaoidh tlm 'n sin no plan,

Oir caisgidh e gach tniaigh' :
'S an sin o'n sglos gheibh fois gu slor,
'S o'n namh gheibh tearuinteachd gu f ior,
A's siochaint a bhios buan.

66

Fair emblem of a better rest,

Of which the saints shall be possess' d,

When they have run their race !
Methinks I see the heavenly shore,
Where sin and sorrow are no more;

And long to reach the place.

Nor shall I always absent be
From him my soul desires to see,

Within the realms of light;
Ere long my Lord will rend the veil,
And not a cloud shall then conceal

His glory from my sight.

Sweet hope! it makes the timid brave;
It makes a freeman of the slave,

And bids the weary rise;
It lifts a worm of earth on high,
It gives him wings, and bids him fly

To everlasting joys.

THE ONLY REFUGE.

Jesus, lover of my soul,

Let me to thy bosom fly,
While the raging billows roll,

While the tempest still is high:
Hide me, 0 my Saviour, hide,

Till the storm of life is past;
Safe in to the haven guide:

O receive my soul at last!

Other refuge have I none;

Hangs my helpless soul on thee;
Leave, ah, leave me not alone,

Still support and comfort me!
All my trust on thee is stay'd,

All my help from thee I bring;
Cover my defenceless head

With the shadow of thy wing !

67

Feuch samhladh aigh air sonas buan,

A gheibh na naoimh, 'n uair ruigeas shuas,

'S a chriochnaicheas an rdis!
Ar learn gu'm faic mi'n duthaich aigh,
'S nach inndrinn pian, no bron, no craclli,

Ach sonas feadh gach rd.

Cha bhi mi ghnath air seachran cian
0 'n duthaich anus am bheil mo mhiann,

Far bheil an solus iuil :
Gu grad bheir Dia air falbh gach sgail',
A's neul cha 'n f holaich ann gu brath

A gh!6ir o m' shealladh sul.

Ni d6chas gealtaire ro threun,

A's saoraidh traill an otraich bhr^in,

'S do 'n hnrach lag bheir buaidh;
Togaidh e cnuimh an duslaich suas,
Bheir neart da dh'itealaicheas luath,

Gu aoibhneas tha bith-bhuan.

AN T-AON DIDEIN.

losa, 'ghradhaich m' anam truagh,

Cuir mu'n cuairt orm do lamh,
'M feadh a bheucas guth a' chuain,

Leis an doininn uaibhrich, aird :
A'd' bhroilleach folaich mi gu caoin,

Gus'n tdid gaoir na gaillinn seach;
Stiursa mi do'n chaladh naomh,

'S m' anam thoir gu caomh do d' theach.

Teanacas eile cha 'n 'eil ann,

No cultaic' an teanntachd m' fheum;
O! na fag mi, 's mi cho fann,

Dion mo cheann fo sgail do sgdith' :
M' uile dhoigh tha annad ftin,

Cuibhrionn m' anm' fo 'n ghre'in is tu ;
'N uair bhios buaireadh ann am cheum,

Bi-sa 'n sin, a Dhe', dhomh dltith.

68

Thou, 0 Christ, art all I want !

All in all in Thee I find ;
Raise the fallen, cheer the faint,

Heal the sick, and lead the blind !
Just and holy is thy name,

I am all unrighteousness,
Vile and full of sin I am,

Thou art full of truth and grace.

Plenteous grace with thee is found,

Grace, to pardon all my sin;
Let the healing streams abound;

Make and keep me pure within !
Thou of life the fountain art,

Freely let me take of thee;
Spring thou up within my heart;

Rise to all eternity!

TRUST IN GOD.

Thou art, 0 Lord ! my only trust,
When friends are mingled with the dust,

And all my loves are gone;
When earth has nothing to bestow,
And every flower is dead below,

I look to thee alone.

The bosom friend may sleep below
The churchyard turf, and we may go

To close a lov'd one's eyes;
They will not always slumber there,
We see a world more bright and fair —

A home beyond the skies.

Thou wilt not leave, in doubt and fear,
The humble soul, who loves to hear

The lessons of thy word;
When foes around us thickly press,
And all is danger and distress,

There's safety in the Lord.

69

'S tusa, 'Chriosd, a mhain tha dhith,

Grasan slorruidh 's leat gach uair ;
Thoir do'n truaghan inheata clith,

'S gabh do'n dilleachd' acrach trims :
'S ceart 's is naomha t'ainms' gii brath,

M' ainm-sa tha ro ghraineil, thruagh ;
Urram buinidh dhuits' a's gras.

Dliomhsa tair a's rughadh gruaidh.

Agadsa tha gras gun dith,

Gras a dh'ionnlad dhiom gach sal ;
Sgaoil feadli bhuaghan m' anm' do shith,

'S fuadaich o mo chridh' gach smal !
Sruth na beatha 'se do ghradh,

M' anam paiteach gluais 'n a dhdigh ;
Tuilleadli biodh e 'm chridhe blath,

'G diridh 'n aird air feadh gach rd !

MUINGHINN ANN AN DIA.

'S tu, 'Thriath, mo mhuinghinn a's mo
Ged tha mo chairdean caomh fo'n fh6id,

'S gach aon d'an tug mi gradh ;
Gach sblas talmliaidh ged a thrdig,
'S a shearg gach blath d'an tug mi sp&s,

Hint feln gu'n seall mi'n aird.

Ar cairdean ionmhuinn tha 'n an suain
'S a' Chill fo fh6idean gorm na h-uaigh',

Fo cheangal cruaidh a' bhais ;
An L\ tha 'teachd 's an diiisg iad suas,
A's inntrinnidh air sonas buan

'S an dachaidh tha gu h-c\rd.

A choidhch' cha'n fhag fo gheilt no fhiainh
An t-iompachan a ni do riar,

'Sdot'fhocalabheirgi''ill;
Ar naimhdean 'nuair bheir ionnsuidh ghar-
Gidheadh, o 'm mirun a's o 'm fearg,

Gheibh dideiu ann ad f&n.

70

Although we feel the bitter dart,
Most keenly rankling in the heart,

By some dark ingrate driven ;
In us revenge must never barn,
We pity, pardon, then we turn,

And rest our souls in heaven.

'Tis thou, 0 Lord! who shield'st niy head,
And draw'st thy curtains round my bed,

I sleep secure in thee;
And 0! may soon that time arrive,
"When we before thy face shall live

Through all eternity.

THE COVENANTERS.

Far up the hills, amidst some lonely glen,
They met, the brave and persecuted men!
A holy remnant of the just and true,
Sworn to that faith which tyrants never knew:
Hunted from house and home, they gather'd there
To offer up to Heaven their earnest prayer;
They knelt around, while one, with lifted hand,
Invoked a blessing on that martyr band.
Then rose they up, and sang with one accord,
Their sweet and simple anthems to the Lord;
Till the far shepherd on the mountain's brow,
Who heard the notes arise so faint and low,
Might deem in such a place, that holy hymn
Was raised and chanted by the seraphim!
They went to battle — not as armies go,
Who blindly smite an unoffending foe;
Forth to a glorious field they march'd unaw'd,
The chosen champions of the living God:
They fought and triumph' d, as the good and just,
Who fight in such a cause, for ever must.
And thus, of yore, have Scotland's patriots rose,
And bravely overcame their banded foes.

71

Ged dh'fhuilgeas sinne goimh a's tair,
A ni ar claoidh gu goirt 's ar cradh,

Bho namhaid guineach, geur;
JN ar cridh' clia toir do ghamhlas ait',
Ach maithidh sinn gu saor 's gach cks,

'S ghcibh fois an aird Icat fein.

Is tusa, 'Thriath, mo sgiath a'm' fheum,
'S tu clmir brat-sgail mu'n cuairt domh fdin,

'S a bheir dbomh fois o m' sgios;
A's gu mu luath a thig an la
'S an nochdar sinn leat Mn gu h-ard

An aoibbneas tha gun chrioch.

NA CUMHNANTAICH.

Na daoine dileas, saraichte, 's fo bhr6n,

Ch6mhlaich gu trie am measg nain beann 'snam frog !

Am fuigheal beag blia firinneach 's gach cas,

bh6idich fos nacb striochdadh iad gu brath :
Kuaigte o'n dachaidb chruinnich iad an cdin,
A cbum an athclminge cbur suas gu n^anili ;
Shleuchd iad mu'n cuairt, a's dh'asluich aon do'n trend
Gu'n dionadb Dia iad o gach olc a's bend.
Dh'&rich iad suas an sin a's sheinn gu h-ard
An laoidhean binne f6s do Dhia nan gras;
An ciobair siiibhlach shuas am measg nam beann,
Le loghnadh dh'disd e ris a' che6l ro bhinn,
An laoidh bu choltach i ri ce61 nan n^amh,
A thogadh aingle naomh a suas gu seimli !
Gu cogadh chaidh, gidheadh cha b'ann le sannt,
'Nan doille 'bualadh slos an naimhdean fann;
Ach gus an arfhaich dh'fhalbh gun sgath, gunfhiamh,
Mar ghaisgich thaghte 'tabhairt gloir do Dhia :
Ch6mhraig a's bhuadhaich iad mar ni gach aon,
A the'id am mach le ceartas air an taobh.
Mar so rinn gaisgich Alba gleachd o chian,
'S gu fearail cheannsaich iad an naimhdean dian

LOVE OF COUNTRY.

Breathes there a man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,

"This is my own, my native land!"
Whose heart has ne'er within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned,

From wandering on a foreign strand!
If such there breathe, go, mark him well ;
For him no minstrel raptures swell:
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung.

O Caledonia! stern and wild,
Meet nurse for a poetic child!
Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,
Land of the mountain and the flood,
Land of my sires! what mortal hand
Can e'er untie the filial band,
That knits me to thy rugged strand!

LOCHIEL'S WARNING.

Wizard. — Lochiel ! Lochiel ! beware of the day,
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array !
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight,
And the claiis of Culloden are scattered in fight.
They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown ;
Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down !
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain,
And their hoof- beaten bosoms are trod to the plain.
But hark ! through the fast-flashing lightning of war,
What steed to the desert flies frantic and far!
'Tis thine, oh Glenullin ! whose bride shall await,
Like a love-lighted watch fire, all night at the gate.

GAOL DUTHCHA.

'Bheil neach air bith, 's an de6 na chrd,
Clio fuar 's nach tuirt e riamh ris f&in,

"Mo dhiithaich chaomh d'au tug mi gaol!"
Aon nach do las a chridh' na chom,
Dhachaidh 'n uair ghluais le ceum neo-throm,

Bho anradh cianail feadh an t-saogh'il!
Ma tha rack 's beachdaich air gu dluth,
Hi laoidh no ce6l cha tog e shiiil :
Ged bhiodh e ard an ainm 's an inbh',
'S a mhaoin cho mor 'sa dh'iarradh miann ;
A dh'aindeoin 'airgid, 'ainm a's 6ir,
'S e'n t-iimaidh truagli bhios aim r'a bhe6,
Cha'n fhaigh e meas, no miagli, no cliu,
'S 'n uair thig am bas thdid sios do'n uir,
Gun chuimlm' no iomradh air am feasd,
'S cha chaoidhear air a shon gun cheisd.

0! Albuinn chaomh, nan stiic, 's nan earn!
A mhuime dh'araicheas na bairdl
A thir a' bharraich a's an fhraoich,
A thir nam bcann, nan tuil', 's nan craobh,
Tir mo shinnaear' ! tir nan sar,
C6 dh'fhuasglas an ceangal graidh,
Ri d' thraigh a dh'aonas mi gu brath I

RABHALH LOCHIALL.

Fiosaiche — A Lochiall! a Lochiall! bi t'fhaicill roi'n la,
Anns an c6mhlaich na Gaill thu 'an suidheachadh blair!
Ann am shealladh tha'n arfhaich le dearg f hull nan laoch,
Air monadh Chuilfhodair 'a iad sgapta gach taobh.
Thug iad ionnsuidh ged dh'f hailnich air buannachd an coir ;
Marbh-thaisg air a* mharc-shluagh a shaltrasna sedid !
Tha Cumberland uaibhreach 'toirt timailt a's tair,
Do'n laochraidh neo-mheata tha pronnta gu lar.
Ach eisd ! Ciod an steud 'tha le luathas na gaoith
Troi 'n deathach 's troi'n lasair a' ruith chun an fhraoich ?
'S e do steud-sa, 'Ghlinnuillinn, tha do ch£ile fo chradh,
A' sealltuiun ri d' thighinn ; ach cha tig thu gu brath.

74

A steed comes at morning : no rider is there ;
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair.
Weep, Albyn ! to death and captivity led !
Oh ! weep, but thy tears cannot number the dead :
For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave —
Culloden ! that weeps with the blood of the brave.

JLochiel — Go, preach to the coward, thou death telling seer !
Or, if gory Cullodeii so dreadful appear,
Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight,
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright.

Wizard. — Ha ! laughest thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn ?
Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn !
Say, rush'd the bold eagle exultingly forth,
From his home in the dark rolling clouds of the north ?
Lo ! the death shot of foeman outspeeding he rode
Companionless, bearing destruction abroad;
But down let him stoop from his havoc on high,
Ah ! home let him speed for the spoiler is nigh.
Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast
Those embers like stars from the firmament cast ?
'Tis the fire shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven
From his eyry, that beacons the darkness of heaven.
Oh, crested Lochiel, the peerless in might,
Whose banners arise on the battlement's height,
Heav'n's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn ;
Return to thy dwelling, all lonely return !
For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood,
And a wild mother's scream o'er her famishing brood.

Lochiel. — False wizard, avaunt! I have marshalled my clan,
Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one ;
They are true to the last of their blood and their breath,
And like reapers descend to the harvest of death.
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock ;
Let him dash his proud foam like the wave on a rock ;
But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause,
When Albyn her claymore indignantly draws;
When her bonnetted chieftains to victory crowd,
Clanranald the dauntless, and Moray the proud,
All plaided and plum'd in their tartan array —

Wizard. — Lochiel ! Lochiel ! beware of the day,
For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal,
But man cannot cover what God will reveal ;
'Tis the sun- set of life gives me mystical lore,
And coming events cast their shadows before.
I tell thee Culloden's dread echoes shall ring,
With the blood-hounds that bark for their fugitive king

Faic sa' mhoch-thri tha steud 'tighinn i*un niliarcaich' na choir;

Ach tha'n t-srian air a deargadh lo fuil nam fear nior.

O Albuinn! 'tha 'in bas a's am braid aig an namh,

A's cha'n aireamh do dho5ir na tha nis aig a' bluis ;

Oir claidheamh an dioghaltaia tha m;i«-li air ^ach taobh,

'S tha smuid feadh Chuilfhodair bho chairbhoan nan laoch !

Lochiall. — Falbh 's innis do 'n ghealtaire mheata do sgeul —
'S ma tha faiche Chuilfhodair cho dosgach leat fuiu,
An fhalluing so suain i mu'n cuairt ort gu dluth,
'S crach bocan a's glaisteag ni fhalach o'd' shuil !

Fios. — 'Lochiall sguir ad sgallais, 's na dean tair air mo sgeul,
Eoin uaibhrich na beiune spionar t' ite chul-sgeith !
Am fir-eun an seol e gu bosdail a suas

Bho dhachaidh measg tiugh neula' dubhlaidh 'n taobh tuath?
Feuch a naimhdean tha 'caitheadh geur shaighdean a' bhais,
'S na aonar tha 'siubhal le leir-sgrios 's le h-ar ;
Ach cromadh e nuas o gach cruadail a's beud,
'S rachadh dhachaidh gu luath, oir tha 'n toir as a dheigh.
'N an lasair na mullaich, 's mar f halaisg an fhraoich
Tha'n teinena fhrasan a' tuiteam gach taobh, —
Ise teine an leir-sgrios air iomain gu garbh,
'S a tha 'tarruiug a nuas orra dioghaltas ro gharg,
O! thusa, 'Lochiall, 'tha gun choimeas 'an elm,
Le do bhrataichean aluinn a' snamh bho do thuir,—
Tha teine o'n airde mu'n cuairt ort gu d' chradh ;
Gu grad pill-sa dhachaidh, 's rach as o gach cas,
Oir tha duibhre a' chasgraidh a mach air gach taobh,
'S tha mhathair gu craiteach mu leanaban a gaoil.

Loch. — Nis, 'Fhiosaichebhreugaich, thoir thu fein as gu luath,
Mo dhaimhich tha treubhach, 's cha gheill iad gun bhuaidh,
Tha iad firinneach, dileas, 's cha strioc iad gu brath,
'S mar luchd-buana ni gearradh air achadh a' bhais.
Bheir mi dulan do Chumberlund tighinn le 'steud,
God a bhuaileas mar thonn air a' charraig le beuc ;
Ach mo thruaigh' a luchd leanmhuinn, 'nan creich aig a' bhas,
'N uair thairn'eas na Gaidheil an claidh'ean gu h-ar!
An Cinnfheadhna, le'm boineidoan gorma bheir buaidh —
Clann-Domhnuill, 'sgach Clann nach bu tais amis an ruaig —
Air an eideadh 'am breacan an fheilidh gu'n sail —

Fios.— A. Lochiall ! a Lochiall ! bi t-f haicill roi'n la ;
Oir ged dhiultas mi amharc air sealladh cho fiat'
Cha cheilear le duine na dh'fhoillsicheas Dia:
Chi mi nithcanan diomhair 'am feasgar mo lai',
Agus plathadh roi' laimh do gach ni tha 'sail dan.
Mu'n cuairt do Chuilfhodair cluinncam ullartaich bhreun
Nan con-luirg a tha 'u toir air ar Priounsa ro threun.

76

Lo ! anointed by Heaven with the vials of wrath —

Behold ! where he flies on his desolate path :

Now in darkness and billows he sweeps from my sight ;

.Rise ! rise ! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight.

'Tis finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moors —

Culloden is lost and my country deplores :

But where is the iron bound prisoner ? Where ?

For the red eye of battle is shut in despair.

Say, mounts he the ocean wave, banish'd, forlorn,

Like a limb from his country cast, bleeding and torn ?

Ah ! no, for a darker departure is near ;

The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier;

His death-bell is tolling, oh, mercy dispel

Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell !

Life flutters convuls'd in his quivering limbs,

And his blood -streaming nostril in agony swims ;

Accursed be the fagots that blaze at his feet,

Where his heart shall be thrown e'er it ceases to beat,

With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale —

Lochiel. — Down soothless insulter, I trust not fhy tale ;
For never shall Albyn a destiny meet,
So black with dishonour, so foul with retreat ;
Though my perishing ranks should be strew'd in their gore,
Like ocean-weeds heap'd on the surf-beaten shore,
Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains,
While the kindling of life in his bosom remains,
Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low,
With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe ;
And leaving in battle no blot on his name,
Look proudly to Heaven from the death-bed of fame.*

* It is somewhat remarkable that none of the English Poets
furnishes so many pieces suited for translating into Gaelic as
Thomas Campbell. The cause no doubt is, that Campbell spent
a considerable portion of his early days in the West Highlands,
and consequently he knew the habits and superstitions of the
people thoroughly. Every schoolboy knows " Lochiel's Warning,''
but only those who have spent their early days in the Highlands
can fully understand the "mystical lore/' so ingeniously inter-
woven with the texture of the " Warning." Those who pretend
to have the gift of the " Second Sight " allege that they see those
events which are soon to happen, pass in succession before them.
They are generally very old, and partly by native shrewdness and
cunning, and also by paying attention to local matters, they are
able to give a pretty correct guess of " coming events," and one of

77

As na neamhan a nuas doirtear copan na feirg —

Feuch a nis e 'na dheann-ruith air lorn shlios na leirg —

Air na boc-thonna caoir-gheal a' teicheadh gu luath ;

Duisgeadh ! eireadh ! an doinionn a ni dhion o gach fuath's.

Tha e seachad. Cha chluinnear an Umhach ni's mo ;

Oir chailloadh Cuilfhodair, 's tha 'n duthaich fo bhrdn.

Ach c'a' bheil an ciomach 'an geimhlibh tha 'n sis ?

Oir an comhrag tha criochuaicht' an leir-sgrios ;s am bis.

Air falbh thar a' chuain e na dhiobrach fo bhron,

Le lotaibh air fhuadach o 'dhuthaich 'so 'choir.

Ni h-eadh, oir tha 'shiubhal am fagusg gu dearbh —

Tha suaicheantas bruin ann, a's eislinn nam marbh.

Tha eigh bhais r'a cluinntinn — O ! thrdcair gabh truas,

Tha 'n sealladh ro sgreitidh, 'sga m' fhagail-sa truagh ;

Air chrith tha gach cuisle, gach feith agus ball,

'S o chuinneinibh chi mi 'n f huil chraobhach na deann ;

Tha cual chrion a' chasgraidh na lasair air lar

Leis an loisgear an cridhe tha tairisneach blath ;

Tha deathach a dhuslaich ag eiridh 'san speur —

Loch. — Tosd, 'Fhiosaiche bhreugaich, cha chreid mi do sgeul,
Oir am feasd cha bin crannchur nan Gaidheal cho cruaidh
"S gun teich iad fo dhosguinu 's fo thamailt san ruaig.
Ged a mhillte mo ghaisgich 'sa thuiteadh sa'bhlar,
Mar fhcamainn a' chladaich air a sgapadh air traigh,
Lochiall bi'dh gun truailleadh, 'sgun chuibhreach gach re,
Fhad 'sa bhuaileas a chuisle 'sa phlosgas a chre ;
Ah* na coimhich bheir buaidh no luidhidh san uir,
Le a bhuinn ris an namh, 's ris an arf haich a chul,
Gun smal air a chliu ged a thuiteas san ar,
R'a dhuais anns ua flaitheas suas seallaidli gun sgith.

those "Taisearan" or Seers, before '45, could predict with consider-
able accuracy what would be the fate of those who espoused the
cause of the Prince.

The sentiments expressed by Lochiel in the closing lines are
truly the sentiments of a Highland warrior of the olden times.
Although his ideas of the way of a sinner's acceptance with God
are rather heathenish, they are quite consistent with the belief of
those who expected to be received at their death to "Flathinnis."
(the [sland of the Brave,) because they had never done anything
to tarnish their honour; and the poet, putting the words into
Lochiel's mouth, makes him speak, as we have said, the senti-
ments of a Highland warrior, and in the belief of which he could
"Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame!"

LOCHINVAR,

Oh! youDg Lochinvar is come out of the west,
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;
And save his good broad-sword he weapon had none,
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone,
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,
He swam the Esk river where ford there was none;
But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate,
The bride had consented, the gallant came late :
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,

Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers and all :

Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword,

( For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,)

" O ! come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,

Or to dance at our bridal, young lord Lochinvar."

" I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ; —
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs hike its tide —
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."

The bride kissed the goblet ; the knight took it up,
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,
With a smile on her lip, and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, —
" Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face,

That never a hall such a galliard did grace ;

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume ;

And the bride-maidens whispered, " 'Twere better by far

To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,

When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near ;

So light to the croup the fair lady he swung,

So light to the saddle before her he sprung !

" She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur ;

They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.

79

LOCHINBHAR.

Thainig triath Lochinbhar as an lar oirnn gu grad,
Air steud each a b'aillo 's na crlochaibh air fad ;
Gun bhall air a shiubhal aco claidheamh deas, treun,
A marcachd gun armachd 's a' marcachd leis f hein !
Cho diloas an gaol, a's cho gaisgeil am blur,
Cha'n f hacas riamh coimeas do thriath Lochinbhar !

Gun churam do bhacadh, gun eagal roimh nimh,
Far an doimhne an amhainn, rinn esan a snamh ; —
Ach Netherby flail, m'an do rainig e thall,
Thug a leannan a h-aonta, 's bha 'shao'ir-san air chall,
Oir bha giugaire 'n gaol, agus cladhaire 'm bldr,
Dol a phosadh na h-ainuir aig trial h Lochiubhar.

Do Netherby Hall gu neo-Bg&thaoh ghabh e steach,

Am measg thleasgach a'schairdean, a's bhra'rean, 'sgach neach!

'Sin thu'irt athair ua gruaguich, 's a lamh air a lann, —

(Bha'm fear-bainnse air chrith, 'se gun smid as a cheann.)

44 An d'thainig thu 'u sith no an d'thain' thu chum air?

No a dhanns' aig a' phosadh, a thriath Lochinbhar ?"

" B'f had' a shuiridh mi do nighean, ged dhiult thu mo ghradh ;
Ach tha 'u gaol mar a' mhuir, ni e lionadh a's tra'dh;
A's thainig mi dh'ionusaidh a' phosaidh gun sion,
'Ach a dhanns' leis an 6g-bhean, 's a dh'61 leatha f ion.
Tha pailteas an Albainn de dh'oighibh a's fhearr,
A ghabhadh gu deonach tighearu 6g Lochinbhar !"

Bhlais ise; ghlac esan an copan gu teann,

As thilg e a laimh. e 'n uair dh' 61 e na bh' ann ;

Chrom ise gu mallda 's a h-aghaidh fo nair', —

Le deur air a suil, 's air a bilibh f eith-ghair'.

Ghabh e greim air a laimh dh' aindeoin bacadh a math'r, —

'• 'Nis theid sinn a dhannsadh !" thu'irt triath Lochiubhar.

A chruth-san cho aluinn, 's a gnuis-se cho briagh,

Cha 'n f hacas aon charaid thug barr orra riamh ;

Fo chorruich bha h-athair, a mathair, 'sa luchd-daimh,

'S am fear-bainnse trom, dubhach, 's a bhoiueid 'n a laimh ; —

Rinn na maighdeannan cagar, " B'e moran a b' fhearr,

" I dh' fhaotainn r'a phosadh tighearn 6g Lochinbhar! "

Air dha beantuinn r'a laimh agus cagar n'a ceann,

A mach air an dorus a ghcarr iad le deann ;

Thog e suas air an each i, 's am priobadh na sul,

Bha esan 'B an diolaid a's is' aig a chul !

" Tha i agam gun taing ! Beannachd leibh ! " thuirt an sar,

" Bidh iad tapaidh a ghlacas tighearn 6g Lochiubhlir."

80

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan ;

Forsters, Fen wicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran

There was racing, and chasing, on Cannobie Lea,

But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,

Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ?

THE ROCK STRUCK.

Oppressed with toil, and parched with thirst,

On Sinai's burning sands,
The tribes of Israel slowly moved,

And drooped his fainting bands;
They thought on Egypt's fertile fields,

Her richly watered plains,
And while they mourned her vanished joys,

Forgot her galling chains.

Against the Lord with rebel souls,

And impious mouths they cried,
His watchful care their hearts disowned,

His grace their tongues denied;
Against His servant Moses, too,

With forward lips they chode,
And vowed no more in Araby

To make their drear abode.

Before the Lord their leader bent,

And claimed His promised aid;
"What shall I with this people do?"

'Twas thus he loudly prayed:
" Thy long-tried love, Thy present care,

Their hearts and lips disown;
And me, Thy servant, for Thy sake,

They seem prepared to stone!"

"Go boldly 011," the Lord replied,

"Thy rod take in thy hand;
Lo ! I on Horeb's lofty brow

Before thee take my stand:

81

Chur na ciirdean le cabhag an eachaibh air doigh ;
Cuid a' ruith, cuid a' marcachd a ghlacadh na h-6igh :
Bha ruagadh, a's reiseadh, thar raointibh a's shliabh ,
Ach sealladh do'n 6g-bhean cha'n fhacaidh iad riainh !
Cho treubhach an gaol, a's cho gaisgeil am blar,
Am facas riamh leithid tighoarn 6g Lochiubhar !

A' CHARRAIG BHUAILTE.

Ro sgith, a's traisgte leis an teas,

Am fasach theith Shinai,
Bha treubhan Israeli 'gluasad sgith

Fo mhighean a's fo chradh ;
Air s6gh na h-Eiphit chuimhnich iad,

'S a sraithean torach, buan,
Ach dhearmaid iad an cor san robh,

Fo thair 'sfo dhimeas cruaidh.

An ceannairc dh'eirich iad gu dan'

An aghaidh aithne Dhd,
'S a churam chuir iad an neo-shuim,

'S le 'm bilean dh'aicheidh e ;
Anraghaidh Mhaois rinn monbhor m6x,

A's dhitilt iad striochdadh dha,
A's bhagair f6s gu'm pilleadh iad

Do thigh na daors' gun dail.

An lathair Dhd shleuchd Maois a sios,

A's dh'aslaich c6mhnadh uaith';
"Ciod ris a' phobull so ni nii?"

B'e sud a ghlaodh san uair :
"Do ghradh 's do churam 'tha cho fial

Le 'in bilean dh'aicheidh f6s,
A's ormsa, t-6glach, air do sgath

Rinn tair a's bagradh m6r ! "

<(Gu dana imich," arsa Dia,

" 'S an t-slat thoir leat a'd' laimh;

'S air mullach Horeib romhad shuas
Bidh mise dluth 's an am ;

82

There smite the rock, and from its side

A limpid stream shall flow,
Which shall, to this rebellious race,

My power and presence show."

The prophet rose, he onward went,

To Horeb's mount he came;
And bade the people mark the might

Of Him they dared to blame:
He turned him round, he raised his rod —

A breathless pause ensued —
While pale with fear, and mute with awe,

The tribes at distance viewed.

He struck the rock, a rushing sound

Of water met the ear;
The mountain yawned, and forth it flowed,

A streamlet cool and clear ;
The people drank, their souls revived,

And round the mountain's base
They prayed that God would still forgive

His Israel's contrite race.

"That Rock was Christ," the Apostle says,

And from His side there flows
A stream which cheers the thirsty soul,

And life and health bestows;
Let all who faint, in Him their hope,

In Him their safety see,
And learn that to each longing heart

The healing fount is free.

"That Rock was Christ!" Proclaim the news!

Proclaim it far and wide !
His grace still rolls a glorious flood,

A never -failing tide:
And as it rolls, its murmurs deep

This sweet assurance give,
That all without a price may drink

And all who drink shall live.

83

A' charraig buail, a's sruthaidh 'nuas
Bho taobh an t uisg' gu luath,

A nochdas dhoibhsan tha cho reasg'
Mo chumliachd mbr 'smo bhuaidh."

Am faidhe dh'uirich, a's gu grad

(lu Horeb chaidh e suas,
'S dh'iarr orra scalltuinn ris an Ti

Air an d'ritm iad dimeas cruaidli :
Thionndaidh riutha 'sthog an t-slat —

Tha iad 'n an tosd gach aon —
Lc geilt a's ball-chrith tha gun smid

Na treubhan ud faraon.

A' charraig bhuail a's chualas fuaim

An uisg' a' tighinn gu cas,
An sliabh rinn fosgladL 's ruith a mach

An sruthan fiorinar, bras;
Am pobull dh'61, 's dh'ath-bheothaich iad,

'S niu'n cuairt air bonn an t-slt>ibh
Tha 'n eigli ri Dia gu rnaith gach beud,

A's olc a rinn iad fdin.

"B'i charraig Criosd/r tha P61 ag inns',

'S a ruith a sios bho 'thaobh
Tha sruth a chuireas casg air iot',

'S a l&gh.seas bho gach gaoid :
'S gach neach 'tha fann le d6chas gann,

Qbeibh tearmunn aim an Criosd;
Oir do gach cridhe truagh fo thart

Bidh e 'na thaic' gu sior.

"B'i 'charraig Criosd," 'se'n sgeul' tha fior,

A's digh e 'm fad 's an cian !
Mar thuil tha 'ghr.hs a ghnath a' ruith

(in pailt air feadh gach iall:
!ia c cur an c^-ill

Le deavbhachd, do chloinn-daoin',
(Jim luach an diol gu'm faod iad 61,

'S na dh'olas glieibh iad saors'.

84

THE LORD'S PRAYER.

Oar Father! Such the tender name,
By which a child of sin and shame

To Thee for mercy sues:
Than earthly father far more dear,
Thou hear'st our prayer, nor dost the tear

Of penitence refuse.

From highest heaven, thy dwelling-place,
Thou mak'st the brightness of thy face

On all thy saints to shine:
Alike the evil and the good
Depend for life, for light, for food,

On the behest divine.

Thy name be hallowed! Saints above,
And holy angels, sing the love

Which God to man displays:
And, oh! shall man himself be found
Remiss to echo back the sound

Of gratitude and praise?

Thy kingdom come. From east to west,
From north to south, the tidings blest

Of thy dominion fly:
May Jew and Gentile form one state
Of brotherhood below, and wait
Thy glorious reign on high.

Thy will be done. In weal and woe,
When thou dost strike or heal the blow,

Let man submissive bend:
And still on earth with true delight
Obey thy word, as angels bright

In heaven their service lend.

Give us this day our daily bread,
Not as the Hebrews, who were fed

With angels' food, and died:
But with the mortal food we eat,
Our souls be with immortal meat

To endless life supplied.

85

URNUIGH AN TIGHEARNA.

Ar n-Athair! 'So an t-ainm tlia caomh,
Trc 'm faod dp leanabaibh diblidh, baoth

An achuiuge chur suas:
Ro ionmhuinn tha thu ghnath dh6ibh fdin,
Os ceann gaol parant' tha do spdis,

'S r'an eigh gu'n aom do chluas.

A neamh nan n&amhan, t'ionad taimh,
Ni dealradh glan do ghnuis gach km

Tighinn air do shluagh gu Uii :
Oir fireanaibh a's aingidh f6s,
Uait ft in tha 'mealtuinn beatha 's Ion,

Mar chi thu orra feum.

T' ainm naomh' biodh beannaichte gu slor,
A's seiuneadh aingle 's naoimh gun sgios

Mu d' ghradh do'n chinne-daonn' :
A's daoin' am faighear leisg no mall
A thogail suas do gh!6ir gach am,

Le taingealachd neo-chlaon?

Do rioghachd-sa sgaoileadh n-ear 's an iar,
'S o dheas gu tuath, feadh chriochan cian,

Air t'uachdranachd biodh sgeul :
Biodh ludhaich 's Geintilich 'n an aon,
Am braithreachas 's an ceangal caoin,

A' feitheamh gairm o n^amh.

Do thoil a ghnath biodh deant' ; c6 dhiubh
A lotas goirt no Idighseas tu,

Gu h-umhal g^illeadh daoin' :
Le gean a's tlachd air thalamh bhos
Toirt g^ill do t'fhocal naomh gun chlos,

Mar ni na h-ainglibh naomh.

Ar n-aran laitheil thoir dhuinn fdin,
Cha'n ann mar fhuair do shluagh o che'iii,

'S a bhasaich iad na dhdign :
Cha 'n ann le aran talmhaidh nihain,
Ach aran neamhaidh nuas o'n aird,

Ni sultmhor sinn gach r^.

86

Our trespasses forgive us, Lord,
As like forgiveness we afford

To those who do us wrong:
And blest be he, who ill requites
With good, nor dares usurp the rights

That to his God belong.

Let no temptation, Lord, we pray,
Entice our wandering steps to stray

From thine all-righteous laws:
Be pleased to send thy Spirit down,
Against the world our efforts crown,

Its censure or applause.

From evil of whatever kind,
Whether of body or of mind,

In mercy set us free:
And oh ! enable us to shun
The malice of the evil one,

His snares aud perfidy.

For Thou hast universal sway,
And all the good for which we pray

Hast power to bestow;
Let, then, thy creatures' love proclaim
The eternal glory of thy name,

Amen, Lord. Be it so.

HABAKKUK'S PRAYER.

LORD, I have heard thy mighty speech, —

It wakened all my fears;
Revive, 0 Lord, thy work revive

In these eventful years:
Amidst the years thy love make known

And in deserved wrath
With beams divine let mercy shine

On thy tempestuous path.

87

Ar fiachan maith dhuinn fdin, a Dhd,
Mar mhaithear leinn dhoibh sud gu l&r

'Rinn eucoir oirnn no beud :
A's beannachadh biodh airsan 's rath
An diric uilc a dh'locas maith,

Oir diolaidh Dia c iV-in.

Na leig le buaireadk 'm feasd, a Dhd,
Ar toirt air seachran cian uait f&n,

'S bho d' lagh ro cheart a's naomh :
Do Spiorad beannaicht' taom a nuas,
A neartaicheas sinn gu toirt buaidh

Air saoghal truaillidh, baoth.

Bho olc 's o laigse do gach gne,
Mu 's aim an corp no 'n inntinn e,

An tr6cair cuir fa sgaoil :
'S dean sinne comasach, le d' ghras,
Dol as o rib a's eangach bais

Ard-namh a' chinne-daonn'.

Oir agadsa tha neart gach r^

Air son gach maith tha sinn' na fheum,

A bhuileachadh gu sior :
Gach creutair cuireadh iad an ce'ill
Do chliu 's do ghl6ir-sa feadh gach r^,

A's gu mu h-amhluidh 'bhios.

URNUIGH HABACUC.

A Thighearn, chuala mi do chainnt,

'S fo uamhas bha mi fdiu ;
Ath-bheothaich t'obair le do ghras

A nis 'am la-sa, Dhe :
Do ghradh am measg nam bliadhnaidh nochd,

Ged thoill do dhiomb a's t'fhuath,
'An trocair seall oirnn, trid do ghrais,

A's saor o chas 'so thruaigh.

88

From Teman came the Holy One,

From Paran's ancient mount ;
Earth woke her harp-notes to his praise,

Heaven did his fame recount;
Seraph and saint, one choir, proclaimed

His majesty sublime, —
Eternity the song began,

'T was echoed back by time.

His glory, like a dazzling robe,

The firmament o'erspread;
The beams of his resplendent form

Surpassing lustre shed;
Pure as the light, his brightness was,

When storms have ceased to lower,
Yet these were but his secret pomp,

The hiding of his power.

Before him pestilence and death

On stern commission went;
Forth from beneath his radiant steps

The burning coals were sent;
0 Grave! thou hadst the victory then —

The bier its trophies bore, —
What wrecks the tempest wildly strewed

Upon thy gloomy shore !

He stood and measured out the earth —

The nations in their pride,
Like chaff before the wintry wind

He scattered far and wide:
Then the perpetual hills did bow

In reverence and in praise,
The everlasting mountains fled —

Eternal are his ways?;

Children of Cushan, saw I not

Your tents in sorrow laid?
Midian, the curtains of thy land

Deep terrors did o'ershade;
Nature, thy God seemed wroth with thee,-

He cleft thy streams in twain :
And hurled the anger of his worc^

Against the swelling

89

Bho Theman thainig Dia a nuas,

'S bho Pharan an Tl 's aird',
An talamh dhiiisg le gean a's ce61,

'S na neamhan cliuir air failt';
Na naoimh a's aingle cliuir an c^ill

A chumhachd a's a chliu, —
A's tiom a's siorruidheachd thog an ce61

Mu mhbrachd High nan di.il.

Mar fhalluing dhealraich sgaoil c 'mach

Na neamhan ard an ce"in ;
Le'n gaithean soluis a' toirt ban*

Air agh a' chruinne-che' ;
Co fior-ghlan ris an t-solus mh6r,

'S an speur gun neul, gun ghruaim,
Acli iad so uile bha 'cur sgail'

Air laith'reachd Thriath nan sluagh.

Roimh 'ghniiis chaidh bas a's plaigh a mach

Gu 'thoil a chur an c^ill;
A's dibhlean teine mar an ceudn'

Bho cheumaibh drilseach fdin ;
A's fhuair an uaigh a' bhuaidh an sin ;

Oir m6ran chaidh gu bas, —
'S bu lionmhor crannalach a sgap

Na tonnan air an traigh!

An talamh thomhais e an sin,

'S na cinnich ann an uaill,
Sgap se iad mar mholl air falbh

Le gaoith a' gheamhraidh fhuair :
Na sl&bhtean siorruidh chrom a slos,

A's umhlachd thug iad dha,
A's theich na cnuic bhithbhuan air falbh —

A shlighe tha gu brath !

A threubhan Chusain, chunnaic mi

'Ur biithaibh ann am br6n ;
Brat-sgaile fearainn Mhidian fdin

'Sann chriothnaich iadsan f6s;
An Triath l)h;i aim corruich riut,

An sruth gu'n d' sgoilt 'n a dha,
'S le focal 'fheirge phill gu grad

An tuil air ais o'n traigh.

90

Lord, when thou didst in chariots ride.

And on thy steeds of fire,
The mountains saw thee, and they shrank,

Appalled before thine ire;
The ocean uttered forth his voice

From out his deep, far home,
And lifted up his hands on high,

Radiant with virgin foam.

The sun beside his burning throne,

The moon in midnight's bower,
Stood awe-struck as thine arrows flashed,

All terrible in power:
Thou didst march through the stricken land,

In vengeance how severe !
Yet wast thou just when thou didst speak,

And when thou judgedst clear.

Like as a whirlwind had they come

Against thine own elect;
The haughty foe had dared assail

The men thou didst protect;
They sought thy chosen to devour,

But thou wast nigh to save,
And didst their joy to sorrow turn, —

Their triumph to the grave.

Amidst the conflict and the storm,

My God, I'll rest in thee,
When thus thy judgments are abroad,

Thy footsteps on the sea;
The lip may quiver at the voice

Of thine approaching day,
The frail heart tremble at its woes,

But thou wilt be my stay.

Although the fig-tree blossom not,

Nor verdure clothe the vine;
Though flock, nor herd, nor olive crown

The stores I thought were mine;
Yet I will in the Lord rejoice, —

The Lord, my strength and shield;
The God whose power, in sorrow's hour,

Doth full salvation yield.

91

'N uair chaidh thu mach air t'eachaibh fein,

'S air carbadan na slaint',
Na bcanntan clmnnaic 's leagh mar chdir

Le h-cagal nun ud lathair;
An fhairge chuir a mach a guth

Bho'n doimhne, fad air falbb,
'S a lamhan tbog a suas gu h-ard

Le gairich agus toirm.

A' ghrian gu'n d' sheas 'n a dcalradh fdin,

'S a ghealach san dubh-thrath, —
Sheas iad fo gheilt roimh t'shaighdean geur,

Cho treun gu lot 's gu cradh :
Roimh 'n f hearann thriall thu ann am feirg —

Do cheartas tha gun liib !
Oir tha thu ceart 'n uair bheir thu breith,

A's fior 'n uair labhras tu.

Mar chuairt-ghaoith thainig iad a nios

Gu sgrios do phobuill fdin ;
An namhaid borb thug oidhirp ghrag

Gu ditheachadh do threud ;
Dh'fheuch iad do shluagh a shlugadh suas,

Ach bha thu dluth san uair,
An aoibhneas thionndaidh thu gu br6n,

'S an caithream f6s do'n uaigh.

Am measg gach trioblaid agus teinn

Mo thearmunn thu gacli uair,
'N uair tha do bhreitheauais a mach,

'S do cheumaibh amis a' chuan ;
An t-aingidh criothuaicliidh le geilt

Eoimh theachd do latha f<5in;
An cridhe anmhunn gdillidh sios,

Ach 's tusa ghnath mo stdidh.

Ged air crann-fige nach tig blath,

'S air fionan nach tig fas;
Ged threi^vus buar a's greidh gu Idir,

'S gach creutair ged thdid bKs;
Gidheadh 'san Triath bidh mise ait —

'S e Urn mo neart 's mo sgiath ;
An Ti, gu beaclid, an la na h-airc'

A ni dhomh taic a's dlon.

92

THE BELIEVER COMFORTED.

The greatest blessings lent us while on earth,
We by their loss are often taught their worth;
Thus in affliction, health is chiefly prized,
The dead esteem' d, who living were despised;
And time, most precious time, recall'd in vain,
While godliness, too late, is counted gain.
Deluded mortal, flee the baits of sense,
Pursue not pleasure at your soul's expense;
Think on the shortness of the present state,
For, Oh! what folly, to be wise too late!
Hear, for thy comfort, poor believing soul,
O'er whom the waves of whelming sorrows roll;
God has declar'd thou shalt receive no ill,
Without His knowledge, or against His will;
And when afflictions shall his saints befall,
Has promis'd graciously to hear their call.
O then, thrice happy soul! assuage thy grief,
He will at all times be thy sure relief;
Thy God's thy glory who preserves thy ways,
Strive thou to live as well as speak his praise.
Still, for thy further consolation know,
The Lord for wisest ends appoints thee woe;
To wean thee from the world, thy patience prove,
To show thy sonship and a Father's love.
Will life, with all our frail enjoyments here,
But as a shadow or a dream appear?
Is day far spent, and is the night at hand,
Which neither youth nor riches can withstand?
Now is the accepted time, receive the grace,
In Scripture offered to a guilty race.
Do what thou hast to do with all thy might,
Lest this thy day should close in endless night.
Seek true repentance and religion prize,
In youth, in manhood, and in age be wise.
Let not the Christian under grief despair,
But every pain with resignation bear;
For through afflictions true believers rise,
To realms of endless day beyond the skies.

93

COMHFHURTACHD DO'N CHRJOSDUIDH.

Gach agh a's motha tha 'n taobh bhos do 'n uaigh

An luach cha 'n fhios duinn gus an teich iad uainn,

Mar so le brbiteachd 's fios duinn luach na slaint',

'S mairbh fo dheadh theisteas 'bha ri'ni be6 fo thair :

An tiom 'chaidh seach' cha tig air ais gu brath,

Cuir luach air crabliadh 'n uair a ni dhuit stath.

A chreutair bhasuihoir teich o shiigradh baoth,

'S na rach an cunnart air son sh5las faoin ;

Cuimhnich cho goirid 's a tha t'iiine bhos,

Gu c6mhlachadh ri Di gu trath dean deas.

Eisd, a's gabh inisueach, anaim dhiblidh, bhochd,

'S na cumadh tonnan buairidh thu fo sprochd,

Oir esan gheall nach tig am feasd ort fe'in,

Gun taing d'a thoilsau, truaighe, br6n, no peln :

'S 'n uair thig cruaidh-chas, no diginn, air a naoimh

Gheall e gu'n disd r'an gearan a's r'an caoidh,

A mhuinntir shaorte, tiormaichibh 'ur de6ir,

Oir anns gach am 's e f^in 'ur slaint' 's 'ur tre6ir :

'S e Dia 'ur g!6ir' 's e thre6iricheas 'ur ceum,

'S mar iobairt thaitneach thugaibh dha sibh feiu.

'S a chum 'ur coinhfhurtachd biodh fhiosaibh f6s

Gu'r h-ann g'ur buannachd tha 'ur truaigh' 's 'ur Ie6n,

Gu'r cur an diosg' o dhiomhanais an t-saoghail,

'S a nochdadh gradh 'ur n-Athar dhuibh faraon.

Am bheil 'ur la mar sgail' no s6las gearr

A' ruith air falbh 's nach pill air ais gu brath ?

An la tha seach', 's an oidhche tha aig laimh,

A's maoin no 6ig cha chum air ais an t-am.

'Se nis an t-am tha taitneach, la nan gras,

'Tha Dia, na Fhocal, 'tairgse do gach Si.

Gach ni as ceart duit dean le t' uile neart

Mu'n tig an oidhche dh' fhagas truagh thu'rn feasd.

Gabh aithreachas, 's air crabhadh cuir m6r luach,

'S ri t'6ig' 's ri t'aois gu'm bi e dhuit mar dhuais.

Ach feuch, a chreidmhich, nach bi thu fo bhr6n,

Gach deuchainn theinnteach giulain mar is c6ir ;

Oir 's ann tre* amhgharan a thdid sibh suas

^ mhealtuinn comunn s6lasach an Uain.

94

Then, poor benighted soul, complain no more,

But what thou canst not understand, adore.

Is pain thy lot? presume not to repine,

For thou art Christ's, and he is ever thine.

A few more sorrowing days, weeks, months or years.

A few more painful struggles, groans and tears,

And all thy conflicts, Christian, will be o'er,

And sin and grief distress thy soul no more.

Time swiftly flies, improve the moments lent,

Prepare for death, and husband each event ;

Think not to trifle with the Lord most high,

Who views thine actions with a jealous eye.

Take heed of sleeping on enchanted ground,

Dream not of happiness where ills abound ;

But know, though man to fancy here 's a slave,

'Tis all reality beyond the grave!

Are light and darkness necessary here,

Does night as useful as the day appear?

So are afflictions, sickness, pain, and woe,

As health and pleasure, while we dwell below.

Then cease to murmur, poor desponding soul,

O'er whom afflictions on afflictions roll;

Hence learn what blessings on the Christian wait,

Both in the present and a future state ;

Trust in the Lord, make him alone your stay,

He'll give thee strength according to thy day;

Thy sure support and best physician prove,

First sanctify afflictions, then remove.

The Lord's his God, his guardian, guide, and friend,

Mercy and goodness on his steps attend:

Eternal love his sun and shield appears,

In every danger to dispel his fears;

His beacon prove through life's tempestuous sea,

And blissful portion in eternity.

95

A neach fo tlmrsa, tiormaich suas gach deur,

'Sa ni nach tuig tlm creid gu bheil gu t' fheum. ^

'Ni pdin do chrannchur? feuch nach bi fo ghruaim,

'S le losa thusa, 's leats' e f<5in gach uair.

An deigh beagan mhios', a's bhliadlmai' bhos fo bhrbn,

A's beagan eilc dheuchainean a's dhebir,

'N sin t-amhgharan, a Chriosduidh, thig gu crich,

A's ciont' no truaigh' cha bhuair iad thu gu sior.

Tha tiom a' ruith 's dean feum dheth churn do lea>,

'Sfa chomhair bais a's breitheanais dean deas;

Air lagh Ieh6bha feuch nach dean thu tair,

A shuil ro eudmhor tha ort feln do ghnath.

Na tuiteadh cadal ort an tlr do namh,

'S air agh na bruadair far bheil uilc a's cradh ;

Biodh fhiosad f6s am measg gach sgle6 a's uaill

Gu bheil gach ni da-rireadh an taobh thall do'n uaigh.

'Bheil duibhr' a's solus ionichuidh dhuinn a bhos?

Ri la tha 'n oidhch' cho feumail dhuinn gu clos ;

Mar sin tha tinneas, iarguin agus pein,

Cho iomchuidh dhuinn ri slainte bhos fo'n ghrdin.

Ni's m6 na bi ri monbhor, anaiin bhochd,

'Tha 'gitilan amhghair, craidh, a's iomadh lot,

Nis faic na beannachdan a's leat gu beachd,

Araon 's an am so 's anns an am ri teachd ;

Earb thus' a Dia, 's do dhochas na biodh meat',

A reir do latha tha e 'gealltuinn neart :

'S e f^in do lighiche, 's do thaice threun,

A Idighseas t'euslaintean 'sdo chreuchdan breun.

'S e'n Tighearn Dia t'fhear-iuil, 's do charaid f6s,

Tr6cair a's maitheanas theld leat ri d' bhe6 :

A ghradh 'tha siorruidh 's e dp ghrian 's do sgiath,

'S a t'uile theanndachd fuadaichidh e t'fhiamh;

Mar sholus soillseach bidh do d' cheum gach uair,

'S do chuibhrionn aoibhneach e san t-siorr'achd bhuan.

96

THE BATTLE OF HOHENL1NDEN.*

On Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow;
And dark as winter was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

But Linden show'd another sight,
When the drum beat at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.

By torch and trumpet-sound array'd,
Each horseman drew his battle-blade,
And furious each charger neigh'd,
To join the dreadful revelry.

Then shook the hills, with thunder riven;
Then rush'd the steed to battle driven;
And, volleying like the bolts of heaven,
Far flash' d the red artillery.

But redder still these fires shall glow,
On Linden's hills of purpled snow;
And bloodier still shall be the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly,

'Tis morn; but scarce you level sun
Can pierce the war-cloud rolling dun,
Where furious Frank and fiery Hun

Shout 'mid their sulphurous canopy.

The combat deepens: On, ye brave!
Who rush to glory or the grave!
Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave!
And charge with all thy chivalry !

Few, few shall part where many meet!
The snow shall be their winding-sheet,
And every turf beneath their feet
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre!

* It was near Hohenlinden, a village of Bavaria, on the 3rd of
December, 1800, that one of the greatest battles ever fought took
place, between the French and Bavarian army on the one side,
and the Austrians on the other. The former, under the general-

97

BLAB, HOHENLINNDINN.

Air Linndinn '11 uair a luidh a' ghrian,
Bha 'n t-6g-shneachd geal gun fhuil air sliabh ;
'S gu dorcha, ce6-reoteach, gu'n d' thriall
Sruth losair 'slos gu cabhagach.

Ach chunnaig Linndinn sealladh nuadh, —
Air meadhon oidhch' thog dnima fuaim,
'Toirt 6rdugh teinntean bais chur suas
A lasadh luath 'na h-achannaibh.

Lu solus lias 'sgair thromb 'na chluais,
( Jach niarcaich' spion a lann a truaill,
'S b' arc! sitrich steud 'n an leum 'dpi suas,
'N uair 'chualas fuaim na sabaide.

Gu'n cV chrith na cnuic gu'm bonn le spairn ;
Air niliire ruith gach each gu h-ar,
'S mar tliorminn speur a's Stidh ran
Gu'n cluinnte prais ri langanaicli.

Ach 's braise 'lasas teinntean buan
Air sldibhtibh Linndinn 's deirge snuadh,
'S le gaorr nan lir, gu fuileach, raadh
Sruth losair gluaisidh cabhagach.

'S e '11 la e ; 's cha nochd grian an aigh
Ach gann a gnuis troi' chiar-che6 'bhais,
'S am Frangach bras 's an t-Ungach dan'
Fo 'sgail ri gair le dannarachd.

Tha 'n cath 'f&s fuileach : sips gach treun,
A's coisinn buaidh, no gluais gu h-eug!
A Mhuinich sgaoil ri crann gach brdid !

'S greas ort gu streup led' ghaisearachd!

Cha till o'n clioinhail m6ran slan,
Do'n chorr ni'n sneachda teiiie-bhais,
'Sgach f6id de'n fhonn a ta fo'n sail
Mar uaigh do shar gu'n treachailear.

ship of Moreau, gained a complete Yictory over the latter, under
Archduke Johu. Besides killed and wounded, the Austrians lost
J 0,000 prisoners, and 100 pieces of canon.

98

VERSES TO MR. E. LLHUYD.*

When first from Spain the grey Gael hither came,
With the Milesian race, a dauntless stock;
Their hardy blades were not in tales more famed
Than were their lays and lore, through every land.
Once this fair seed had spread out far and near,
Then honour meet and due the Gaelic gained:
That copious, tasteful, sweet, expressive tongue, —
That polished, sounding, smooth, well-ordered speech.

* When Mr. Llhuyd published his " Archseologia Britannia,"
in 1704, so pleased were the Highlanders with the interest with
which he invested their language, that many of them addressed
complimentary verses to him, expressive of their appreciation of
his work. In 1707 a second edition was issued, wherein some
• >f these verses were given. The above is a translation, by the
late Rev. T. Pattison, of what Mr John Maclean, minister of
the parish of Killninian, Island of Mull composed on that occa-
sion. The verses are interesting as showing the enthusiasm of a
Highland clergyman on seeing his language duly honoured by
such an eminent man as Mr Llhuyd was. The following pieces,
although not so lengthy, show that Mr Maclean was not the only
Highlander who complimented Mr. Llhuyd : —

Bho Raibeart Caimbeul, Fear Faraiste (Sgireachd) Mhio-
Chailein, an Comhal, do'n uasal oirdheirc, Alaighstir Edward
Lhuid. Fear-coimhead Tigh-nan-seud 'an Oil thigh Ath-an-
daimhan Sasunn, Ughdar an Fhoclair Ghaoidheilg, Failte!

Ceillfair soc is cantair ceol
An rioghachd Eirinn gach aon 16 ;
'3 cuirear adhbha ciiiil faoi ghleus
An criochaibh aoibhin na h-Albann.

An t-aobhar fa'n deiream sud,
Canamhuin oirdheirc nan tir ud,
Air bhi dhi o shean am bruid
A sgaoileadh a nis o 'cuibhreach.

Le cainnt a dhruidear gach sith,
Bheirear aoradh do'n Ard-righ :
Neach, d'a f heabhas, 's fann a chor,
'S cananmhuin a bhi d'a easbhuidh.

Do bhrosnnich sud Maighstir Leod
Am briathran oileanta deas-ghloir,
Freumh do'n aiteal chruadhach ghrinn,
Do shiol buadhach nam breithneach.

99

KANNAN DO MHAIGHSTIR E. LTJ1D.

Air teachd o'n Spainn do shliochd a' GhiYidheil ghlais,
'S do shliochd nain Miiidh, 'n fhine nach bu tais ;
Bu mhor an sgleo 's gach fod air cruas an lann,
Air fiFeachd fos 's air foghlum nach bu ghann.
'N uair dh'f has am por ud mor a bhos a's thall
Bha meas a's pris de'n Ghailig aims gach ball —
An Teanga lionmhor, bhrighmhor, bhlasda, bhinn,
'S a' Chanain thartrach, liobhta, ghasda, ghrinn.

Oid' an mil an sas na f hil'eachd,
An ard stuidear na sgoileachd,
'Ta chaidre tuinnidh a's taimh
Aig Ath-an-daimh an Sasunn.

Sgaile morachd 's air treun ghniomh
An droing 'chuir Eirinn fo throm chis,
Aon do'n chinneadh cheud-chathach ud
'G a togail a nis gu mor-chliu.

An gniomh do roghnuich am mac ud
Teisteas air meud a mheamna,
Dh'fhag maireanta buan a bhladh

Alloill am flaitheas Ghaidheal.

•

Nior thaisteil talamh do'm fhios
Ughdar coimeaste ris :
Saoi do bheothaich air ais
Oghuim ceir na Gailig.

Tiomnadh sgriobhte dha mar dhuais
A chaoidh gu'm bi alladh a' fas,
Eigneachd a ch6ille le'n chnuas
Gu la Luan an deigh a bhais.

I3ho Sheumas Mac-Mhuu-', Sagart Chill. Dalltan, 'an He.

'S e do bheatha, 'Fhoclair chaoimh,
Do chriochaibh ard Chlanna Gaidheal ;

Gu innis fos nan C6ig-C6igeamh
'S i do bheatha g'an uibhir.

Gheibh thu fiilt' an criochaibh Ghaidheal,

'S i do bheatha 'n Inuse-gall ;
Ni gach Triath riutsa cotnunn,

Gheibh thu moladh an Eirinn thall.

Do dhuisgeadh riut as an uaigh

A' chanain chruaidh a bha fo smal ;

100

In regal courts a thousand years and more
It reigned, ere raised its head the dark Gall's tongue ;
Then bard, and lyrist, prophet, leech, and sage,
All trace and record of achievement brave,
Since first Gathelus left the Egyptian strand,
Wrote down in Gaelic with effective pen.
Thus long the clergy glory won and fame,
And thus with native accents praised their God.
Thus Patrick spoke, in kingly Innisfail,
And sainted, mild Columba thus in le.
The polished French, from whom all people learn,
Their own first rudiments of learning got
In that fair Isle of penitential tears:
There spoke the nurse of every tribe and tongue;
For Gaelic then was not the guiding star
Of Gaelic youth, more than of Galldic too.
Now is it circumscribed, — woe ! woe ! and well-a-day \
Few love it now. — Alas ! the weary change, —
Oh ! the decline, — its authors all forgot,
Heroes who lisped it first, then cherished it.
But courtiers sold it for a poor exchange —
A modern tongue, — a tongue of yesterday ;
Thus, with contempt, deserting from their own.

Great fame, great praise, great thanks to noble Llhuyd.
Who has revived it from the grave again.
All from the versatile, fierce Gael derived,
Each tribe in whom their language still inheres, —
All men, — the increase of the Scottish root, —
Should now requite thee with a due reward, —
Down from the Queen at present on the throne,
Even to the wandering, houseless poor this night.
Back from a, hundred generations come
The memory of their exploits — retained
In this most worthy language— slighted now

Teanga bha cian fo gheasaibh
Do chuireadh leat an clo re seal.

Tuigseach, saibhir do theagasg,
Soilleir, tarbhach, seimh do ghloir ;

Lionmhor, brighmhor do shean-fhocail,
Sgiamhach, taitneach, ciallach, mdr.

Thoir mo bheannachd gu Maighstir Liath,
A dhuisg le buaidh Foclair fial :

Bheir gach Gaidhoal dhuit-se beannachd,
Is e leatsa thar na, dh'airmhear.

101

An cuirt nan High, re mile bliadhn' a's treall,
Gu'n robh i 'n tus mu'n d' thog cainnt Dhu'ghall ceann.
Gach fill 's bard, gach leigh, aosdin' a's draoi,
Gach seanachaidh fos, gach eoladhain shaor a's saoi
f-Ju'n tug Gathelus leis o'n Eiph't a nail,
'S an Gailig sgriobh iad sud le gniomh am peann.
Na diadhairean mor, bu chKu 's bu ghloir do'n Chleir, .
B' ann leath', gu tarbhach, 'labhair iad briathra Dh6.
B'i labhair Padruig 'n Innisfail nan righ,
'S am Faidhe naomh sin, Calum caomh 'an I.
Na Frangaich liobhta lean gach tir am beus,
O I nan Deoraidh ghabh am foghlum freumh.
B?i b'oide-muinte luchd gach duthch' a's teang';
Chuir Gaill a's Dubh-ghaill chum an iuil so 'n clann.
Nis dh'fhalbh i uainn gu tur, mo thruaigh ! 's mo chreach!
'S tearc luchd a gaoil, — b' e sud an saogh'l fa seach!
Thuit i 's an tur m' araon r'a h-ughd'raibh fein,
"S na flaith' Jm bu duth' i ghabh d'a comhdach speis.
Reic iad 's a' chuirt i air cainnt iir o 'n de,
A's threig le tiir, 's bu n^r leo 'n canain fehi.

Air sar O Liath biodh agh, a's cuirnhn', a's buaidh,
A rinn gu h-ur a dusgadh as a h-uaigh.
<Tach neach 'tha fhreumh o'n Ghaidheal ghleusda gharg,
'S gach droing d'an duth a' chanain ud mar chainnt —
Gach aon a chinn ah* treubh 's air linn a' Scuit
An duais is fhiach thu 's coir gun ioc iad dhuit.
O 'n Bhanrighinn air am bheil an tras an crun,*
Gu ruig am bochd 's an &it' an nochd an dun,
Bha 'n ainm 's an euchd, o linn nan ceudan al,
Tre mheath na Gkilig 'dol a cuimhne chaich :

* Banrighinn Anna.

Bho Aindrea Mac'illeathain, Fear-a'-Chnuic, an Tu*ithe, mac
Easbuig Earraghaidheal.

Ordheirc an gniomh, saor bhur comhlan,

Cliu do f hoghlum beiridh uain ;
Ti do chuir do na thuit o'r sinnsreibh

Cus do sgeimh bhur linn am fuaim.

Molamaid Mac-Liath 'na sheanachas,
Uchd-mhacachd do leanmhuinn oirnn,

Braithreachas Gaidheil fear Shasuinn,
Thoirt 'n ar cuimhne ceart na lorg.

102

Their deeds of fame, yet distant lands can learn ;
And one to other say, "A Gaelic race hath been."

But, better still, with polished rhetoric,
We can express, with might, the truth of God.
Who knows but He who Aholiab erst,
And Bezaleel taught to build the ark,
Hath moved thee and inspired thee now, O Llhuyd !
To do yiy work with energy and art ;
And make His own great name adored and praised,
lu every region by the Gael possessed.
•v'o neither let, nor distant be the day,
When shall thy name in every heart be writ,
And every memory, in lettered gold.
And, now, a blessing, and adieu from me, —
From heart, and hand, and tongue attend on thee.

THE MOUNTAIN SANCTUARY.*

Bleak was the winter Sabbath morn,

And dreary was the sky,
When the persecuted left their caves

To worship the Most High ;
An unfrequented mountain-gorge

Received the trembling flock,
Their canopy was mist and cloud,

Their altar was the rock.

The eagle o'er their sanctuary

Majestically soared,
And screain'd discordant while the crowd

Most rev'rently adored;

* The venerable John Blackadder, describes one of the open-
air communions held in 1677, as follows : — " We entered on the
holy ordinance, committing it and ourselves to the invisible pro-
tection of the Lord of hosts, in whose name we were met together.
Our trust was in the arm of Jehovah, which was better than
weapons of war, or the strength of hills. There was a solemnity
in the place befitting the occasion, and elevating the whole soul
to a pure and holy frame. The communion tables were spread
on the green by the water, and round them the people had

103

Nis cliu an gnlomh chluhin crlochan fada thall,
'S their iad le cheil', " Bha Gaidheil aon uair aim."

'S ni 's fearr, a shaoi, bidh briathran liobht' 'n ar beul,
Lan seadh a's brigh le'n nochdar firinn Dhe.
Cia fios an Ti chuir 'u Aholiab tur*
'S am Besaleel, a thogail irois uir,
Xach e so fein a ghluais O Luid 's a ghleus
Gu 'shaothair thoirt gu buil le 'thuigse gheir,
Bhrigh bhi 'na rim 'ainm dheanamh cliuiteach, mor
.Air feadh nan crioch 's an d' fhuair na Gaidheil coir ?
Gu'm b' amhluidh bhios, — 's gach neach a chi an 16
Biodh t'ainmsa sgriobht' 'n a chridh' 'an litir'ean oir,
Agus 'na chuimhn' — a's gheibh thu choidhch' uam fein,
Beannachd a's failt' le m1 chridh', le ra' lairah, 's le m' bheul !

* Ecsodus, xxxi. 2.— f>.

IONAD-NAOMHA NAM BEANN.

Air maduinn Dhdmhnuich iidlaidh, fhuar,

'Sbu ghruainach dorch' an speur,
Bho 'u uamhaibh c6sach ghluais an sluagh

Gu h-aoradh naomha Dhd ;
'An lagan uaigneach fad' o chach

An treud tha cruinn le ch^il',
Xa ne6il 's an ce6 chuir orra sgail',

B'i chreag an altair f&n.

Os ceaun an ionaid uaomha bhig

Am Fir-eun dhirich suas
Le sgriachail sheirbh 'rinn toirm ro gbarg

'N uair shleuchd a sios an sluagh;

arranged themselves in decent order. \Ve desired not the
countenance of earthly kings; there was a spiritual and divine
majesty shining on the work, and sensible evidence that the great
Master of assemblies was present in the midst. It was indeed
the doing of the Lord, who covered us a table in the wilderness
in presence of our foes, and reared a pillar of glory between us
and the enemy, like the fiery cloud of old that separated between
the camp of Israel and the Egyptians — encouraging to the one,
but dark and terrible to the other. "

104

The chilling wind moan'd fitfully
Through groves of stunted pine,

And the torrent rush'd and thunder' d
Through the desolate ravine.

And from that lonely rugged spot

Ascended, rich and rare,
The incense of the contrite heart —

The sacrifice of prayer;
And angels from the heights of heaven

Did look complacent down,
On the honour'd heads that soon should wear

The martyr's glorious crown.

And grey-hair' d sires forgot their griefs,

And all their wrongs forgave,
When they heard of Him whose powers burst

The barriers of the grave;
And widows, poor and desolate,

And homeless orphans, pray'd
For pardon from the throne on high

On their oppressor's head.

And matrons haggard, pale and wan,

With babes upon their breast,
ExpelPd from husband, hearth, and home,

Gaunt, destitute, oppress'd;
Exulted in their sufferings —

Nay, smiled at torture — death ; —
And gazed on the Sun of Righteousness

With the eagle-eye of faith!

And woe-worm groups in manhood's prime,

By tyranny harassed,
Whose tatter'd garments, matted hair,

Stream' d on the wintry blast,
Attuned their voices solemnly

To a high and holy theme;
And the strains of Zion blended

With the roaring of the stream !

The ruthless conqueror may climb
The slippery steep of fame;

105

Bha fuaim na gaoithe fuaire nis
R'a cluinntinn feadh nan craobh,

'S bha toirm an t-sruth, o chreig gu creig,
R'a ckluiimtinn air a' ghaoith.

Acli as an ionad udlaidh ud

Ghaidh iobairt chubhraidh suas
Bho chridhe briste, bruite, goirt

Nan de6raidh bochcla, truagh ;
Bho neamh bha ainglean 'sealltuinn 'nuas

Le tlachd, san uair ud fdin,
Air cinn na inuinntir bha gun dail

R/ an crunadh 'n lathair

Na seann-daoin' dhichuimhnich am br6n,

A's mhaith gach eucoir chlaon,
'N uair chual' mu ghradh an Ti a chuir

An ceanglaichibh fa sgaoil ;
Na banntrich' 6nrachdauach bhochd,

'S na dileachdain gun tre6ir,
Ghuidh air son maitheanas o Dhia

Do luchd na h-eucoir mhbir.

Na mnathan glas-neulach, lag, fann,

Le 'n leanaban air an cich,
Bho 'm fearaibh p6sda a's o'n clann

Bh' air f6gradh feadh na tir';
'N an trioblaid bha ri g\\irdeachas,

'An neo-shuim chuir an cradh,
'S ri Grian an aigh gu'n d' sheall iad suas

Le creidimh a's le gradh.

Bha iomad 6glach dubhach, sgith,

A's claoidht' le foirneart cruaidh,
Le 'n e'ideadh luideach, tolltach, sean,

'Sgu peaUach, dubh an gruag;
Le cridhe bruite sheinn le gean

Mu chliu an Ti a's aird;
A's 6rain Shion mheasg le toirm

An t-sruth a' ruith gu traigh.

A's fear na h-uail' ged gheibh a suas
Ro ard 'am beachd an t-sluaigh,,

106

And venal pens, corroding brass.

Immortalize his name;
But unfading wreaths, celestial palms,

And crowns, are their reward
Who braved the despot when the sword

Of tyranny was bared !

PSALM CXLVIII.

Begin, my soul, the exalted lay,
Let each enraptur'd thought obey,

And praise th' Almighty's name.
Lo! heaven and earth, and seas and skies,
In one melodious concert rise,

To swell the inspiring theme.

Ye fields of light, celestial plains,
AVhere gay transporting beauty reigns,

Ye scenes divinely fair:
Your Maker's wond'rous power proclaim,
Tell how he form'd your shining frame,

And breath'd the fluid air.

Ye angels, catch the thrilling sound,
While all the adoring thrones around

His boundless mercy sing;
Let ev'ry list'ning saint above
Wake all the tuneful soul of love,

And touch the sweetest string.

Join, ye loud spheres, the vocal choir;
Thou, dazzling orb of liquid fire,

The mighty chorus aid:
Soon as grey ev'ning shades the plain,
Thou, moon, protract the melting strain,

And praise him in the shade.

Thou, heav'n of heavens, his vast abode;
Ye clouds proclaim your forming God,
Who call'd yon worlds from night;

107

'S ged ni luchd-sodail mar a's aill

Gu 'chuimhne cbumail su
'I'ha ])alinaibh neamhaidh, 's crun nach searg

Air a thasgaidh slmas 1:11 h-ard,
J)i»'n divain nach go ill do luchcl am fuath,

X uair bhagras iad am

SALM CXLVIII.

( ) ! in' anam, tog am fonn gu rdidh,
'S do smuaintean uile thugadh gelll,

A's seinneadh cliu do'n Triath.
Ffuch! neainh a's talamh, muir a's speur,
Tha 'togail suas an gnth le che'il',
A' seinn do chliu gach ial.

A ,-jifuran aillidh 'sdearsaich' fiamh,
Le 'r n-uile mhaise, dhreach a's sgiamh,

Thar iomraidh agus smaoin :
Air neart a' Chruithfhir 'deanamh sg^il,
hinsibh mar las e suas an speur,

'S a shdid e 'n t-aileadh caomh.

:ithream togadh aingle'm fonn,
'Sgach ni tha os ar cionn 'sfo'r bonn,

Mu 'ghrkdh a tha gu brath ;
Xa naoimh 'tha'n sonas siorruidh shua-.
Dcaiiadh iad luaidh air gradh bith-bhuan,

A' seinn le laoidhibh dha.

A ivultan, 'tha san iarmailt shuas,

'S a ghrian 'tha 'g6radh bheann a's chruach,

T\i> L-uidichcadh am fonn:
Air iiiagh, 'nuair dh'aomas an dubh-thrath,
A' ghealach togadh suas gun dail

A chliu le guth neo-thr6m.

A lu-amh nan iR'amhan togaibh >uas

Cliu a's glnir do Thriath nan sluagli

A rinii an cruinneadh ct5:

108

"Ye shades, dispel!" — the Eternal said:
At once the involving darkness fled,
And nature sprung to light.

Whate'er a blooming world contains,
That wings the air, that skims the plains,

United praise bestow;
Ye dragons, bound his awful name
To heav'n aloud; and roar acclaim,

Ye swelling deeps below.

Let every element rejoice:

Ye thunders, burst with awful voice

To Him who bids you roll;
His praise in softer notes declare,
Each whispering breeze of yielding air,

And breathe it to the soul.

To him, ye graceful cedars, bow;
Ye tow'ring mountains, bending low,

Your great Creator own;
Tell, when affrighted nature shook,
How Sinai kindled at his look,

And trembled at his frown.

Ye flocks that haunt the humble vale,
Ye insects flutt'ring on the gale,

In mutual concourse rise;
Crop the gay rose's vermil bloom,
And waft its spoils, a sweet perfume,

In incense to the skies.

Wake, all ye mounting tribes, and sing;
Ye plumy warblers of the spring,

Harmonious anthems raise
To Him who shap'd your finer mould,
Who tipp'd your glittering wings with gold,

And tun'd your voice to praise.

Let man, by nobler passions sway'd,
The feeling heart, the judging head

In heavenly praise employ;
Spread his tremendous name around,
Till heaven's broad arch rings back the sound,

The gen'ral burst of joy.

109

"An duibhre teicheadh," thuirt e fdin —
Gu grad an duibhre theich gu l&r,
As nadur dh' dirich suas.

Gach bith 'tha tkrnh 's a' chruinne-che*,
Air lar 'tlia dul, no sliuas sail speur,

Gu h-ait dha togaibh fonn :
A dhragonaibh, le'r neart ro threun,
Air 'ainm ro oirdhearc deanaibh sgeul,

Le doimbneachdan nan tonn.

Na duilean fbs biodh ait gach re* :
'S an tairneanach 'ni fuaim san speur

Dha togadb iollach ard;
'S an oiteig sh&imh le gutb ro bhinn
Dba canadb cliii o linn gu linn,

A' seinn le comb-sbeirm Dha.

A sheudair' arda, cromaibh sios; •
'S a bheanntan nibralach gach tlr,

Gach uair dha thugaibh g^ill;
Innsibh mar las beinn Shinai suas,
'S a chriothnaich i o bonn fo ghruaim

'N uair labhair e le 'bheul.

A sprdidh a dh'ionaltrais 's na glinn,
'S gach cuileag bheag os ceann ar cinn,

Dha thugadh ge"ill a's cliu ;
Gearraibh an ros a's deirge snuadh,
'S am faileadh cubhraidh ^ireadh suas

Mar thuis do Dhia nan dul.

Duisgibh, 'eunlaith bhinn nan geug,
'S gu ce61mhor togaibh suas dha fe"in

'Ur n-6rain ait mu 'chliu ;
Dha-san a thug dhuibh cuma 's dreach,
Le iteach buidhe 's dearg fa seach,

Le cail a ghleusadh ciuil.

An duine fos, le tuigse 's tur,

Le cridhe 's ceann san d' chuir e iiiil,

Dha thugadh moladh buan;
A's 'ainm ro uasal sgapileadh 'n cdin,
A' toirt mac-tal' air ais o'n speur,

Le iolach ait, bith-bhuan.

110

HOPE.

Friend of the brave! in peril's darkest hour,
Intrepid Virtue looks to thee for power;
To thee the heart its trembling homage yields,
On stormy floods, and carnage-cover' d fields,
When front to front the banner'd hosts combine,
Halt ere they close, and form the dreadful line.
When all is still on Death's devoted soil,
The march-worn soldier mingles for the toil!
As rings his glittering tube, he lifts on high
The dauntless brow, and spirit-speaking eye,
Hails in his heart the triumph yet to come,
And hears thy stormy music in the drum !

MIRIAM'S SONG.

Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!
Jehovah has triumph' d — his people are free!
Sing — for the pride of the tyrant is broken,
His chariots, his horsemen; all splendid and brave,
How vain was their boasting ! the Lord hath but spoken,
And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave.
Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!
Jehovah has triumph' d — his people are free!

Praise to the Conqueror, Praise to the Lord,

His word was our arrow, his breath was our sword!

Who shall return to tell Egypt the story

Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride?

For the Lord hath look'$ out from his pillar of glory,

And all her brave thousands are dash'd in the tide.

Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!

Jehovah has triumph' d — his people are free!

Ill

DOCHAS.

Cultaic' a' ghaisgich aims gach airc a's teinn,

Tha 'n Treun nach meat' a' cur a neirt 'n ad mhein ;

'S an cridk' air bhall-chrith 'deanadh earbs' ad chail,

Measg tlmiltibh borb' 's air raontaibh dearg le h-ar,

'N uair ghluaiseas feachd nani bratach as gach laiinh,

Mu'n dliithaich suinn an strith nan lann le gair.

'N uair bhios gach fuaim 'n an suain air faich' a' bhais,

Ni'n gaisgeacli sgith grad dhiol air gniomh gun spairn.

Mar 'sheinneas fheadan dealrach diridh suas

A ghnuis gun fhiamh, — a shuil 'sa mhiann 'na snuaclh,

''Na ch6m 'cur failt' air buaidh a ta ri teachd,

'S e 'cluinntinn toirni do ghuth 'an drunia 'n f heachd 1

ORAN MHIBIAIM.

Seinntiombanard-fhuaimneachtharcuan glasna h-Eiphit!
Ieh6bhah thug buaidh — shaor e'n sluagh a thug geill da !
Seinn — oir thuit ardan an namhaid 'chum sinachd oirnn,
'S a charbaid, 's a mharc-shluagh, bu nihaiseach air fonn.
B'f haoin 'uaill as an gniomh ; cha tuirt Dia ach am facal,
'Sbha 'charbaid 'sa mharc-shluagh'g an casgradh'san tonn.
Seinn tiomban ard-f huaimneach thar cuan glas na h-Eiphit !
Ieh6bhah thug buaidh — shaor e'n sluagh a thug ge'ill da!

Gu'm molar am Buadhach — gu'm molar an Triath,

B'e'fhacal ar saighead, b'e anail ar sgiath!

Co 'thilleas do'n Eiphit 'thoirt sg^il air a bhuidhinn,

A chuir i 'nan uidheam gu siubhal 'san t6ir?

'N uair dh'amhairc ar Triath as a nial air a cumhachd,

'San fhairge le sruthaibh gu'n do shlugadh a s!6igh.

Seinn tiomban ard-f huaimneach thar cuan glasna h-Eiphit !

Ieh6bhah thug buaidh — shaor e 'n sluagh a thug ge'ill da :

112

THE WINTER.

See how rude winter's icy hand
Has strip'd the trees, and seal'd the ground,.
But spring shall soon his rage withstand,
And spread new beauties all around.

My soul a sharper winter mourns,
Barren and fruitless I remain;
When will the gentle spring return,
And bid my graces grow again?

Jesus, my glorious Sun, arise!

Tis thine the frozen heart to move;

Oh ! hush these storms, and clear my skies,.

And let me feel thy vital love.

Dear, Lord, regard my feeble cry,
I faint and droop till thou appear;
Wilt thou permit thy plant to die?
Must it be winter all the year?

Be still, my soul, and wait his hour.
With humble prayer and patient faith j
Till he reveals his gracious power,
Repose on what his promise saith.

THE EXILE'S COMPLAINT.

When captive Israel sat and wept
Beside the stream whose waters swept

By Babel's lofty walls;
Well might sad tears her cheeks bedew,
As vivid memory called to view

Fair Salem's ruined halls.

She mourned Jehovah's prostrate fane,
Where incense erst, and victims slain,
His rising anger stayed;

113

AN GEAMHRADH.

Seall mar 16m an geamhradli fuar
A* choill, 's mar chuir e 'm fonn fo ghlais ;
Ach thig a chlisg' an t-earmch nuadh,
'S bheir ailleachd do gach ni air ais.

Tha mise' a' brbn fo gheamhradk 's cruaidh',
Cha tig dull' uaine orm no blath ;
0 ! cuin 'thig orms' an t-earrach nuadh,
A thoirt dhomh fas as ur 'an gras ?

losa, scall orm I 's tu mo ghrian,
'S tu ni 'n cridhe re6ta tlatk ;
Ciiiinich an stoirm tha ormsa 'g ia'dh,
A's tearuinn mi fo sgail do ghraidh.

A Thighearn, 6isd ri m' ghearan lag,
Tha fadal orm thu 'theachd a lath'ir ;
An geamhradh dh6mhsa 'bhliadhn' air fad ?
Am f uiling thu do d' lus dol bas ?

Bi samhach, m' anam, 's feith r'a uair,
Le iirnuigh bhuan a's creidirnh be6 ;
A ghras gu'n taom e ort a nuas,
'S na ghealladh biodli a ghnath do dh6igh.

GEARAN AN FHOGARRAICH.

Na h-Iudhaich 'n uair a ghuil o chian
Hi taobh nan sruth tha 'ruith gu dian

Seach callaicl Bhabiloin;
An de6ir cha b' ioghnadh 'ruith gun tamh,
'N uair chuimhuieh iad an aitreabh aigh,

Bhi nis 'na laraich luim.

Fo thtirsa bha mu theampull Dhd,

'S an trie a thairgeadh iobairt reit*

Gu casg 'chur air a ghruaim ;

114

His altars now no longer smoked,
Nor Aaron's sons with prayer invoked
His blessing and his aid.

While pagan taunts each bosom wrung,
Well might their harps remain unstrung

On that ill-omened day;
Well might their tongues refuse to sing
The sacred songs of Sion's King,

And chant a festive lay.

'Tis thus that, haply doomed to roam,
A weary wanderer from his home

In Britain's favoured isle.
Laments, with tears of sad regret,
The by-gone days, whose sun has set

Since fortune ceased to smile.

He sees the churchyard's hallow'd sod,
He sees the temple of his God

By idol rites defiled;
And sighs for that loved house of prayer
Where Christ alone presides, and where

He worshipped when a child.

So likewise in the world we see
A Babylon of misery,

Where, captive-led by sin,
The true-born sons of Israel's race
Travail and groan for inward grace

Redemption's price to win,

Here no abiding city waits,
No safe asylum opes her gates

To bid them welcome home:
Strangers and pilgrims here below,
No present resting-place they know,

But seek for one to come.

Oh ! when shall I, a pilgrim too,

Thy heaven-built towers, fair Salem, view,-

Bright mansions of the blest ?
How gladly will I hail the day.
Which calls my ransomed soul away,

And leads me to my rest!

115

A nis o'n altair cha 'n 'eil smuid,

No sagartan, le 'in b51trach tuis,

Ag aslachadh a thruais.

'N uair rinn na Cinnich sgeig a's tair,
('ha b' iughnadh iad-san 'bhi fo phrainh,

'S an clarsaichean giin ghleus;
An teangaibh dhiult a dhol air seirm
Gu 6rain naomha Dlid a sheinn,

'S a thogail fonn le'n teud.

Mar so is trie 'tha 'n t-anrach traagh,
Bho dhachaidh '6ige fad air chuairt,

A' cuimhneachadh le br6n,
Air laithean aigli a dh'fhalbh 's nach pill,
A chaith gii h-aoibhneach anns na glinn,

Le cairdean nach 'eil be6.

A' Chill 's am bheil a dhaimh' 'n an suain,
'S an aitreabh mu'n do thruis an sluagh,

Tha saltairte gu lar :
B' e mhiann bhi fathast, mar bu ghnath,
'Cur urnuigh suas tre Chriosd gach tratli,

Mar 'rinn o chian le each.

Mar so san t-saoghal chi sinn fdin,
Gach sarachadh, a's br6n, a's pdin

'Tha feitheamli air gach aon ;
Ach oighreachan a' gheallaidh tha
A' guidhe air son grSis gach la,

A bheir dh6ibh fuasgladh saor.

Cha 'n 'eil an so dhuinn dachaidh bhuan,
'S a dorsa 'fosgladh fial a suas

G' ar f ailteachadli le baigh ;
Mar choigrich a's luchd-cuairt a bhos,
Gun ait' air bitli gu tamh no clos,

Ach dachaidh gheibh gu h-ard.

Is coigreach mis' tha lag a's sgith,
'S do gheataibh aillidh c'uin a chi,

Jerusalem 'tha shuas?
Cia aoibhneach leamsa teachd an la
'S am faigh mi fuasgladh o gach cas

Gu brath 'an sonas buan !

116

THE GOSPEL.

From Greenland's icy mountains,

From India's coral strand,
Where Mric's sunny fountains

Roll down their golden sand; —
From many an ancient river,

From many a palmy plain,
They call us to deliver,

Their land from error's chain.

What though the spicy breezes

Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle;
Though every prospect pleases,

And only man is vile?
In vain with lavish kindness

The gifts of God are strewn;
The heathen in his blindness

Bows down to wood and stone.

Can we, whose souls are lighted

With wisdom from on high,
Can we, to men benighted

The lamp of life deny?
Salvation! 0 Salvation!

The joyful sound proclaim,
Till each remotest nation

Has learned Messiah's name.

Waft, waft, ye winds His story,

And you, ye waters, roll,
Till like a sea of glory,

It spreads from pole to pole !
Till o'er our ransom'd nature,

The Lamb for sinners slain,
Redeemer, King, Creator,

In bliss returns to reign.

117

AN SOISGEUL.

Bho bheanntan re6ta Ghreenland,

Bho Innsean teith nan sl6gh,
Bho Africa nam fuarau

'Bheir uath' a' ghainneamh 6ir ;
Bho iomadh. amhainn aosinhor,

'S bho iomadh. reidhlein uain',
Tlia ruinne, air son saorsa,

An glaodh tighinn thar a' chuan.

Air Ceylon ged a shdideas

A' gnaoth gu cubhraidh, tlath ;
Ged tha gach sealladh ceutach,

A's duine 'mhain 'na ghrain ;
M6r mhaitheas Dhe* tha 'n diomhain

Air locadh air gach taobh ;
Tha truaghain dhall na tir' sin

A' striochd' do iodhail f haoin.

'N dean sinne, 'th'air ar stidradh

Le gliocas idil o'n aird,
An I6chran neamhaidh 'dhiiiltadh

Do'n dream tha'n duibhr' an sas?
Dean slaint' do pheacaich ^igheach —

Dean sgeul nam buadh a sheirm,
Gus am bi gach creutair

Air ge'ill a thoirt do'n ghairm.

Dean ruith, a sg^il na saorsa,

Air carbad gaoithe 's cuain,
Gus, anns gach cearn do'n t-saoghal,

An cluinn gach aon an f huaim !
A's duine air a shaoradh,

Le iobairt ghaoil an Uain,
Ag ^igheach o gach taobh ris,

E 'theachd g'a rioghachd gu luath.

118

THE WITHERED LEAVES*

See the leaves around is falling,

Dry and wither' d to the ground;
Thus to thoughtless mortals calling,

In a sad and solemn sound: —
"Sons of Adam once in Eden,

Blighted whence, like us ye fell:
Hear the lecture we are reading ;

'Tis, alas ! the truth we tell.

"Virgins, much, too much presuming
On your boasted white and red;

View us, late in beauty blooming,
Number'd now among the dead.

* The following verses, on the same subject, were translated
from the French, by the late Mr. Ewing Maclean, Post-Office,
Glasgow ; and we are sure that every Highlander of taste, will
thank us for inserting them here : —

'N tra sgap am foghar mu'n cuairt

Duilleach ruadh nan craobh air lar,
'N uair dh'fhiilnich dubhar na coill,

'S nach cluinnte ceol binn 'n a birr.

Dh'fhalbh easlain teach dubhach, trom

Moch, 'se mall-cheumach fo bhron,
A dh'fhaicinn, mu'n tigeadh am bas,

Doire 'ghraidh an laithibh 6ig'.

" Soraidh leat, a" choill mo ghaoil,

'S leur dhomh crannchur m' aois' ad phramh,

'S gach duilleag 'tha seargte air gheig
Tha 'cur an ceill 's dliith dhomh 'm bas.

" An Tairgeannach bho Epidaur,

Thuirt e rium, ' Mu'n teid thu aog,
Chi thu uair eile le d' shuil

Crionte, duileach ur nan craobh.

" ' Mu d' thiomchioll tha 'n t-iubhar a' f is,

Na's baine na faoghar nan sguab,
'S tu 'g aomadh a sios gu trath,

Gu dachaidh shamhaich na h-uaigh'.

119

AN DUILLEACH SEARGTA.

Faic an duilleach ruadh mu'n cuairt duiun,

Seachdte, seargte air an lar ;
A's ri daoin' eucdillidh, guanach

Tha, le truas, mar so ag radii : —
" A shiol Adhaunh a bh' aim an Eden,

Shearg a's thnit sibh mar sinn fein :
Eisdibh na chuireas sinn an cdill duibh ;

Gun ag 's e 'n fhirinn tk'ann gu leir.

" Oighean ait is aille snuadh
Na deanaibh uaill a geal a's dearg ;

B' aluinn sinn' measg dhuilleach uaine —
'Nochd gu truagh am measg nam marbli.

" ' Meathaidh t'oig' agus do sgiamh
Mu'n searg am fiar air an Ion, —

Mu'n seac, 'am fasgadh nan cnoc,
Bagailtean dosrach nan cno.'

" Tha 'n uair a' teachd, 's fuar a' ghaoth
'Tha 'bualadh neo-chaoin 'am chiabh ;

Faileus m' oige, 's trom a' ghuth
'G urachadh cumha 'na m' chliabh.

" Tuitibh, a dhuilleagan maoth,

Follaichibh an rod tiamhaidh, balbh,

'S ceilibh air mo mhkthair ghraidh
Far am bi mi m&ireach marbh.

" Ach ma thig leannan mo chridh',
Gu deurach, tursach fo ghruaim ;

'S an dubh-thra dh'fhaicinn an f hoid,
M' fhaileas le solas gu'n gluais."

Thuirt e,— thriall e, 'scha do thill,—

Theirig uine 'n tir nam beo,
Fo sgail an daraich tha 'shuain,

'S an tigh chaol, gun fhuaim, gun cheol.

Cha 'n fhac a leannan an leac, —

Cha robh i feasgar ga coir ;
'S cha duisg guth e gu la Luan,

'N a aitreabh uaigncuch 's an torr.

120

Sons of honour, fed on praises,
Fluttering high in fancied worth ;

Lo! the fickle air that raises,
Brings us down to parent earth.

" Youths, though yet no losses grieYe you,

Gay in health and manly grace,
Let not cloudless skies deceive you;

Summer gives to autumn place.
Venerable sires, grown hoary,

Hither turn the unwilling eye ;
Think, amidst your fading glory,

Autumn tells a winter nigh.

"Yearly in our course returning,

Messengers of shortest stay ;
Thus we preach this truth concerning,

Heaven and earth shall pass away.
On the tree of life eternal,

Man, let all thy hopes be stayed;
Which, alone, for ever vernal,

Bears a leaf that shall not fade."

THE PRAYER OF AGUR.

PROVERBS, XXX.

These things have I desired of God;

O hear thy servant ere he dies —
Keep me far distant from the road

Which leads to vanity and lies.

Preserve me in that equal state

Wherein my soul shall prosper best;

Neither with flowing wealth elate,
Nor yet by poverty depress'd.

Still feed me with convenient food,
And for my daily wants provide:

Give what thou knowest for my good,
Not that which ministers to pride.

121

"Chlann an anabhair a's na m6rchuis,
C'uim' an dean sibh b6sd 'n 'ur cuid ?

'S i 'n oiteag 's airde thogas suas sinn
'Bheir a nuas sinn gus an dus.

"Fhearaibh 6g', Ian tre6ir a's slainte,

D6chas ard a's c&ileachd bhras;
'S trie bha latha grianach meallt',

'S tha 'm foghar air a' gheamhradh faisg'.
'Sheanairean nan ciabhan sneachd-gbeal,

Beachdaichibh an so le tur;
Tha 'ur fogharadh 'n a dheann-ruith —

Faicibh 'n geamhradh air a chul.

''Tha sinn ann an curs' na bliadhna

Mar theachdairean a' cur an celll;
A's ag innseadh do gach creutair,

Talamh 's neamh th&d seach' gu l^ir.
Nis air craobh na beatha shiorruidh

Biodh 'ur muinghinn f^in gu brath ;
'Sin a' chraobh a ghnath 'tha iirail,

'S anns gach km tha i fo bhlath."

URNUIGH AGUIR.

GNATH-FHOCAIL, XXX.

Tha m' achuingean riut fe"in, a
Ri t'6glach e*isd mu'm faigh e bas;

Cum mi fad air falbh o'n cheum,

Gu eug 'tha treorachadh, 's gu cradh.

'An cuimse coimhead mi gach uair,
A's m' anam truagh dean sultmhor, ait;

Gun saibhreas 'ni mo thogail suas,
'S na leig mi 'm bochduinn chruaidh 's an airc.

An I6n bhios iomchuidh air mo shon,

Dhomh solair f 6s o la gu la :
Na bhios gu m' bhuannachd thoir-sa dhomh,

'S cha 'n iad na nitheau learn is aill.

122

Lest I be full, and so rebel,
And in my heart should madly say,

Who is the Lord? where doth he dwell?
That I should serve him and obey?

Or lest in penury and pain,

I should put forth my hand to steal;
Or take thy holy name in vain,

And for a bribe the truth conceal.

THE SOCIETY OF TRUE HIGHLANDERS*

In lov'd Wilhelmia, near whose mural pile,
Proud Loehy's tides with eddying surges boil,
Conven'd the mountain-patriot's faithful hand,
And pledg'd the endearing tie with heart and hand ;
A tie that calls to mind primaeval days,
And rites to sires that won immortal praise.
Those are the Gael's still unconquered race,
They wear their native arms with native grace,
Milesian arms, Milesia's rich costume,
The garb of Gaul that sack'd imperial Rome:
Themes that would bid the strain spontaneous roll,
If heaven-born genius fir'd the poet's soul.
The graceful bonnet freak'd with various dyes,
O'er whose high crown the shadowy plumes arise,
Forms the rich crest, and, as the warriors move,
The effusive clusters seem a floating grove !
The parti-colour'd plaid, a splendid show,
Bestrides the breast, like ^Ether's lovely bow
On western clouds, when Sol the day renews,
And ev'ry field is gemm'd with twinkling dews.
Encas'd within the silver- spangled sheath,
Hangs from its zone the pond'rous beam of death :
Thus sleeps the thunder-dragon of the skies,
Till storms in all their warring rage arise.
Before the Phelig's finely plaited coil,
Conspicuous waves the glossy badger's spoil,

* This Address was composed by Ewan Maclachlan, Esq.,
Rector of the Grammar- School, Aberdeen, on the formation of
" The Society of True Highlanders," by Colonel Macdonnell of
Glengarry, and recited amidst enthusiastic cheering at their first

123

Air eagal 'n uair a bhithinn Ian

Gu cuthaich, dan' gu'n abrainn fe'in,

C6 e Dia? '<&' bheil e 'tamh,

Gu'n tugainn seirbhis dha a's gdill?

Air eagal a's nam bithinn bochd,
Mo lamh gu lochd gu'n sininn f6s;

No t'ainm ro naoinh a luaidh gu faoin,
'S a chleith na firiun air son t6ic.

COMUNN NAM FIOR-GHAIDHEAL.

An Inairl6chaidh nam mur
Chunncas an t-iir-ghaisreadh cruinn ;
Thaisbein iad an clid bu bheus,
Sud an sgeul a b' dibhinn leinn.
B' ioma Ceann-tighe 's Fear-feachd —
B' ioma gaisgeach meamnach, m6r —
B' ioma Flath agus Triath sluaigh
A thuiunich an Btuaigh nan c6rn.
Gaidheil, an Comunn gun fheall,
Lan uidheam Ghaidheal m'an dream,
Ghleusadh sud teanga gu fonn,
N'am b' e6lach air dhealbh nan rann.
Sealladh cha 'n fhacas air blar
A dh'ardaicheadh cail do chldibh,
Mar thriall nan cath laoch nach cllth,
'An earradh an sinnsridh f^in.
Boineid ghorm an t-dideadh cinn,
Ite riomhach nan dos trom
Air iom'-cbrith 'na babaibh grinn,
Thar urlainn mheachair nan sonn.
Trast mu ghuaillibh gach fir thrdin
Breacain bhall-bhreac nan ceud cuach,

Meeting in Fort-William, on the 12th of July, 1815. The Gaelic
version was not composed for some months thereafter, as we find
it bearing date, November 1. 1815, and inserted in Mr. Maclach-
lan's volume of " Poetical Effusions."

124

Whence plenty dealt, without the frown's allo JY
Can turn the wail of grief to songs of joy.
Beneath the knee whose beauty mates the snow,
The well-wrought tassel binds the gaudy hose,
"Where red and white with rival lustre blend.
And round the calf at equal angles bend.
Last, glancing as the polish'd jet, the shoe
Adorns the foot that scarce imprints the dew.
Anon, the bag-pipe pours its stream of tones,
Swelled by the peal of the silk-ruffling drones ;
With all the flight of quivering fingers driven,
The torrent floats on the four winds of heaven :
Rais'd by the quick or solemn marching time,
On music's wing the soul ascends sublime ;
Full of the deeds that beam through years of old,
Our clans advance, in might and freedom bold:
The muse, enraptur'd at the bright survey,
Bids their lov'd names adorn the unprompted lay.
With flags display'd, Clann-DomhnuiWs regal line,
And Stewart's ranks with martial beauty shine :
The Cam'rons there, behind their gallant sire,
Hard as the flint, and fierce as flames of fire ;
Maclachlans, murd'rous in the van of fight;
Macleods, exulting in their native might ;
Macleans, whose swords could deal the fateful storm,
When Mars and rage the battling host deform ;
Victorious Grants, the sons of chiefs renown 'd,
From where Spey's current laves the fluw'ry groun
Mackenzies, that wide waste the leaguer'd vale,
When the Stag's Branching Antlers mount the gale ;
Mackinnon's champions join'd with Black Macrae's,
Whose bright exploits in glory's annals blaze ;
Macgregor's tribes with arms and prowess steel'd,
In furious combats never known to yield ;
The hardy sons of Diarmad fam'd of yore,
(The chief who felled Glenshee's destructive boar);
The Frasers, awful as the lightning blast,
With heaps of slaughter'd foes to strew the waste;
Chisholm, from northern glens, with rnarshall'd pow'rs,
And brave M' Colls, from Appin's sylvan bow'rs;
With the strong ranks that bear the Leader's name
Who gain'd, in Malcolm's days, immortal fame.
Before the pomp, advanc'd with kingly grace,
I see the stem of Conn's victorious race,
Whose sires of old the western sceptre sway M
Which all the Isles and Albyn's half obey'd.
The illustrious chief of Garry's woody vales:
His radiant standard eddying sweeps the gales*

125

Mar bhogha-frois arms an speur,

'S grian ag diridh air fcur-chluain.

Laini-chasgraidh 's an truaill air bhoinn,

Loinntreach le h-airgiod 's le h-6r,

Mar bheithir-dhealain 'na suain,

Mu'n diiisg a bruaidhlcin 's na ne6il !

Fuaighte ri li-t-ileadh nam pleat

Tha sporan iallach a' bhruic;

'S trie a dhioladh as do'n bhochd

Bho laimh phailt, le gniiis gun stuirt.

Geal a's corcur a' comh-ghleachd

'S an osan ghearr, beairt nan cos,

Br5g bhileach, dhubh 'bu glirinn snas,

Mu'n troidh nach dean feur a lot.

Inneal nan sreann-dhos a' seinn

Caismeachd a b' ard-ghloireach pong,

Pronnduil luth'or nani mean roinn,

Chur .aigne air ghoil gu gloon.

A' tuil-dhortadh as gach taobh,

Faicibh Uaislean nan Saor-Chlann !

'Sud coille nam mile miagh

Nach d' araich an crionach cam.

D6mhnullaich rioghail nan sr6l;

Stiubhartaich d'an c6ir-bhreith buaidh ;

Claim-Cham'roin, an streup nan arm,

Cho teann ris an ailbhinn cliruaidh ;

Lachannaich chlis nan gleus dluth ;

Le6daich nam beuin druighteach, tr6m;

Leathanaich bu luaithe lamh

'Am boile-chath gair nan sonn :

Granndaich is trie a fhuair cis,

Sliochd nam rnilidh bho thaobh Spelth;

Clann-Choinnicli bu phronntach ar,

'N uair dh'direadh ard Chr5chd an Fhdidh ;

lonmbuinnich eucbdach bho'n t-Srath;

Sliochd Mhic-Rath Dhuibh bu gheal gniomh;

Aitim Ghriogair nan colg cruaidh,

Roimh bhorb shluagh nach gabhadh sniomh ;

Siol Dhiarmaid nam faobhar nochd,

A mharbh an Tore 'an Gleann-Sith ;

Frisealaich bhras bho'n Taobh-tuath,

A dhruim-leanadh ruaig 's an stri ;

126

Conspicuous blazon'd with Clann-DomJmuiWs shield,

That rears fame's emblems on its quartered field,

The barge with furling sails, the gory hand,

The flying eagle, and the croslet wand ;

Two bears, the types of vanquish'd Lochlin's shame,

With shafts infix'd, support the mystic frame.

Its crest, the tow'ring rock in blue pourtray'd,

And the perch'd raven tinged with sable shade.

Clann-DomhnuiWs puissant chief o'er all presides;

His active zeal the council forms and guides;

They pledge adherence to the patriot laws

That knit true Gaels to their country's cause,

That prompt the Gael, like a fiery zone,

To link as guardians of the British throne;

As British freedom, loyal, firm, and bold,

That never barter'd faith, for proffer'd gold, —

Through life unstain'd to hold the Gaelic name,

And dread no form of death like guilty shame.

No deed of shame the genuine Gael stains,

No taint of pois'ning guile pervades their veins ;

Instinctive touch'd with feeling's finest glow,

They shed refreshing balm on wounds of woe:

Thus, ev'ning slakes the world with pearly rains,

When the sun flames on ocean's western plains.

On wanton foes whose madness prompts their ire,

They rush like streams of heaven's electric fire,

When rolling thunders burst in awful peals,

And nature, tott'ring. to her centre reels!

Facts crowding thick on facts, confirm my strain ;
From crops matur'd we judge the parent grain ;
The tree whose arms with luscious apples glow,
Supplies no sap for the lean aspen bough ;
The lion, mightiest of the sylvan kind,
Breeds not the feeble kid, or tim'rous hind;
Nor the shrunk nag that draws the sledgy car
Can procreate the bounding steed of war.
Through ages past explore the rolls of fame,
No speck has soil'd the genuine Gael's name :
With one rich juice from one nectareous vine,
Through ev'ry age the generous clusters shine.
These are the sons of Fingal, Caelt, and Gaul,
Whose glorious prowess made earth's tyrants fall,
The great Cuchullin, Oscar, prince of shields,
And Conn, victorious in a hundred fields —
Names that shall grace the poet's tuneful rhymes,
While sun and stars, revolving, measure time.

The Ausonian pow'rs, of their vast conquests vain.
Have stretch'd their sway o'er Albion's southern plain :

127

Clann t-Shola bho'n Apuinn ghuirm ;
Sioealaich nach fuilgeaah tair;
Slioclid an Toisich bu mhorluaidh,
Fo Chalum iol-bhuadhach aigh.
Ceann-suidhc Comuimi gun mheang,
Mac ( )i-lire Righ Innse-Gall,
Ard-Fhlath an t-sl6igh ud Siol Chuinn,
Alastair nasal nan Gleann.
Tha 'n caidreimh Comuinn nara buadh
Gach subhailc luach'or bu ch6ir,
Firinn mhor-aigeanach nach strloclid
Air mhuilein do mhiltibh 6ir.
Dearbhaidh na feumach am baigh,
Mar ghrdin aigh sa' Ch&tein chiuin,
Maduinn 6g a' sileadh bhraon,
'S gach raon a' dealradh fo dhriiichd.
1-aulach do'n namhaid tha'n gruaim,
Mar chaonnaig uaibhrich nan speur,
Braghadaich an torruinn cbrnaidh
'Cur luasgan fo'n cbruinne-cbd !

'S ni nach ioghnadh gl6ir mo dhkin,
'S dnalchas do n bhkrr gnaths an t-sil ;
A freuLchach abhail nan seud
Cha bhrist geug a' chrithinn chrln.
Bho gharg leoghann nan tosg fiar
Choidhch' cha siolaich am meann tais,
'S cha bheir lair-pheallach a' chl^ibh
Criiith-each aluinn nan leum bras.
Rannsaich gach sgeula bho shean,
Bha 'n deadh Ghaidhcal riamh gun chron,
An fhionain dhearc-thoireach ghlan,
Do'n aon bhrigh bho bharr gu bun.
Sliochd Chuchulainn, Chapilt', a's Fhinn,
Osgair, a's Oisein, a's Ghuill,
'S righ nan ceud cath d' am b' ainm Conn,
'S cian a bhios luaidh air na suinn.

Ged b' ard na R5imhich 'an gleus,
'Sa' mhagh-thir LTU leir fo'n ceann,
Thug SAORSA buaidh anus an strith,
'S ghldidh i dhi f£m Tir-nam-Beann.
Cha snaoidh an Gaidheal 'an teinn —
Treun'tas a dhaingneach 's cha 'n fhoill,

128

But northern Freedom cried: — "My sons! combine;

Dread not yon foe; the land of hills is mine."

The hill-born heroes Freedom's flag unfurl'd,

And check'd Rome's progress in the western world.

No fear the Gael's dauntless soul can tame ;

Not fraud but prowess gains him deathless fame,

He fights or falls in native freedom brave,

And scorns to live on terms that bind the slave.

O'er Mili's gallant sons to usurp the rein,

Proud Scandinavia try'd, but try'd in vain.

On Albyn's shores she won sepulchral grounds:

This right is fix'd, till the last trumpet sounds.

All Europe, from Iberia's wave- beat coast,

Through her wide realms, to Zembla's world of frost,

In praise of Scotia's mountain race conjoins,

How in fame's fields their peerless valour shines.

From the green bow'rs where first young Sol awakes,

To woods that hide him from Columbian lakes,

Renown's acclaims in answ'ring echoes roll,

And circle the vast sphere from pole to pole.

Napoleon led his firm embattl'd train
"Where seven-stream 'd Nilus sociks the Libyan plain ;
Before him shone Britannia's pride display'd,
And thus, predictive of war's fate, he said:
" Those are the tribes of Albyn's northern hills,
The extended realms of earth their glory fills:
Be strong, my warriors! ere the close of day,
Yon parti-colour'd lines, so grimly gay,
May teach what force the soul of Oscar steel'd,
And how great Fingal's arm could waste the field."
Truth seal'd his speech. The champaign blaz'd around ;
The nations mix'd, red slaughter stain'd the ground;
The " Unconquer'd host" a conquest soon became,
And fall'n or fled, resign'd an empty name.

The plain of Waterloo's decisive fray,
Attests the Gael's full exerted sway :
Squares rang'd by squares, in mail-cas'd myriads, stood,
The spoilers of the world, athirst for blood.
War's columns now advanc'd in silent state,
Majestic, awful, big with Europe's fate !
Britannia's Lion roar'd: — "My cubs, away!
Spring on yon wolves, and glut your maws with prey! "
Swords clash'd, steel rattled, murder march'd before,
And strew'd the scene with corpses bath'd in gore !
When Morven's plaided sons, in vengeful ire,
RolFd on the steely wall the flood of fire,
It broke, as melts "a mass of dusky haze,
When Sol, in Cancer, darts the noontide blaze !

129

Cha mheal am fior-ghaisgeach tair,
'S annsa leis am has na chuing.

'S trie thug Lochlunn ionnsuidh chlith
Gu sipl Mhiliclh 'clmr fo smaig ;
Fhuair i 'n Albuinn eug a's uaigh,
Seilbh is buan di gu Ih, bhrath.
Na criochan E6rpach gu l&r,
Innsidh sgeul air Laoich nan Sliabh,
Am buillsgein gach deannail chruaidh
Mar chuireadli iad ruaig gu dian.
'Smaireann an alladh 'sgu'r cian,
Fad 's a shiubhlar fonn a's cuan —
Bho 'n tlr 's am mpsgail a' ghrian,
Gu 'tamh an iar air chul nan stuadh.

Stiuir Napoleon am m6r-chath
Air bruaich Niluis nan seachd sruth,
Sheall e, 's inntinn fo throm cheal,
Air reang nam fear bu chaoine cruth.
"'S Gaidheil iad sud," ars' an sonn,
"Gaisgich chliuiteach nan Tuath Bheann,
Dearbhaidh torruinn an geur lann
Mar chogadh Osgar a's Fionn."
B' f hior a bhriathar — las am blar,
Thionnsgain spairn nam brdcladh searbh,
Dh'fhas na Do-clieannsaich gun chlith —
Cho-chaill iad an ni 's an t-ainm.

Fhuair iad ath-dheuchain a' chraidh
Aig Bhatarlaidh nan ar tr6m,
Cho dluth 's ga'n robh 'mheatailt aigh
Ga'n comhdach bho bhkrr gu bonn.
Bheuchd Le6ghunn Bhreatuinn le sgairt : —
"As oirbh a Chuileinean graidh!
Gheibh sibh thallud sealbh gu pailt,
Glacaibh a's casgraibh 'ur sath."
'Sin far an robh sp61tadh truagh,
Lann an luatha 'bruanadh clinamh,
Closachain, 'n am plod-fhuil ruadh,
A' dearg-dhath gach cluan do'n bhlar.
Leagh am meall cruadhach gu Idir
Roimh mhaoiin theinnti nan treun m6r>
Amhuil baideal do che6 ciar
A sgapas a' ghrian inu n6inl

130

For this the valiant Gael shine renown'd,
With glory's never fading laurels crown'd;
Now rais'd aloft, Old Caledonia's name,
With lasting beams shall gild the sphere of fame.
Hail, chiefs and patriots now combin'd to save
Our ancient rites from time's all swallowing grave !
While you protect the sea-girt queen of isles,
She stands secure of force and fraudful wiles.
The Gael's freedom fenc'd by sacred laws
Now joins his own with his dear country's cause :
The Gaelic, sham'd and tetter'd now no more,
Resumes full empire on her fav'rite shore.
Auspicious era, hail! The power of love
Descending from the blissful thrones above,
With the fair choir of Virtues, hand in hand,
Shall fix their reign in Albyn's iavour'd land.
Discord, and fell oppression, head-long thrown,
On hell's red rocks with tortur'd fiends shall groan :
The spring of heav'n shall now with fost'ring gales,
Make our hills green, and fertilize our vales.
Youths, herds, and flocks, unnumber'd swarm around,
Thick as the ferns that skirt the sylvan bound,
Arts, tillage, commerce, rear a patriot train,
To wield the sword, or plough the spacious main ;
While Christian truth, and classic learning join'd,
Unfolding all the boundless realms of mind.
Refining love shall thus his warmth diffuse,
Peace, grace, and bliss distil empyreal dews,
And the great Age, in rolls of fate foretold,
Beam on our happy Isle with rays of Gold.
Thou, at whose potent word primaeval light,
Flash 'd through chaotic glooms, and scatter'd night,
Sov'reign of heav'n and earth ! vouchsafe t'j smile
With choice regard on Freedom's Western Isle!
May the great fabric of her threefold sway
Endure, till earth and seas and skies decay !
Preserve our prince, the realm's illustrious heir;
His life, his throne, be thy perpetual care !
Preserve our state from faction's rending jars;
Preserve the hosts that bravely fight our wars ;
Preserve the native rights that form our boast,
Preserve the Oaken Mound that walls our coast ;
May British Majesty unrivall'd shine,
While Phoebe's force attracts the surging brine,
And ev'ry flag on ocean's breast unfurled
Revere the mistress of the wat'ry world.

131

'N a lorg sud tha meas a's miagh
Air Clann Ghaidheal nan colg geur;
Bidh cliu gach linn air an gniomh
Fhad 's a dh'iadhas grian mu'n speur

Mile beannachd, mile buaidh,
Air Comunn uaislean mo ruin:
Cha snisnich Breatunn le fiamh
A's sibhse mar dhion ar a ciil.
Thog Albuinn a ceann le h-uaill,
Dh'fhuasgladh a' Gh&ilig a snaoim,
Tha c6ir gach saorsain gu feum
Aig sliochd Ghaidheal nam beus grinn.
Thig sonas, a's bliochd, a's maoin,
Fiarachd a's tlus, faoilt' a's baigh ;
Sgaoilidh, 'n am mlltean, 'ur siol
Mar fhrainich nam fiadh-ghleann fas.
Eiridh gaisreadh ghallan ur
A dhion Bhreatuinn, mar mhur prais,
'S an ifrinn loisgeach nam pian
Taisgear folachd fo chiad glas.
Bidh eolas a's creidimh fior
A' stiuradh nan gniomh le beachd,
'S tionnsgnaidh an Aois Oir 'an sith,
Mar a dh'6rduigh Righ nam feart.

Thus', a las an aibheis chian,
Le 'saoghalaibh 's le 'grianaibh iiiil!
Didein Ban-Impir' a' chuain
Gu la Luan, mar chloich do shul.
Coisrig i deas agus tuath,
Coisrig gach sluagh tha fo 'reachd,
'S am boile nan deubhadh garg
Tre6raich-sa gu sealbh a feachd.
De6naich d'ar Prionns' 6irdheirc, aigh
Saoghal aoibhin 'sgach ard-bhuaidh;
De6naich sar ghliocas d'a chiiirt,
Chum 's gu'n dearbh iad iuil do d' shluagh.
Naomhaich ar lagh, gldidh ar c6ir,
Gun cliam fh6irneart 'g am bum' dinn,
'S aig M6rachd Bhreatuinn biodh barr,
Fo d' shaor ghras bho linn gu linn.

132

THE EMIGRANT.

Fast by the margin of a mossy rill,
That wander'd, gurg'ling, down a heath-clad hill,
An aged peasant stood, oppress'd with woe,
And eyed the ocean's flood that foam'd below.

Where, gently rocking, on the rising tide,
A ship's unwonted form was seen to ride ;
Unwonted well I ween, for ne'er before
Had touch' d one keel the solitary shore.

Nor had the swain's rude footsteps ever stray'd,
Beyond the shelter of his native shade :
His few remaining hairs were silver gray,
And his rough face had seen a better day.

Around him, bleating, stray'd a scanty flock,
And a few goats o'erhung the neighb'ring rock;
One faithful dog his sorrows seem'd to share,
And strove, with many a trick, to ease his care.

While, o'er his furrow' d cheeks, the salt drops ran,
He tun'd his rustic reed, and thus began: —
"Farewell! Farewell! dear Caledonia's strand,
Rough though thou be, yet still my native land:

" Exil'd from thee, I seek a foreign shore,
Friends, kindred, country, to behold no more.
By hard oppression driven, my helpless age
That should, e'er now, have left life's bustling stage,

133

AN T-EILTHIREACH.

Aig caochan nan srann a's nan lub,

'Bha le tuchanaicn tearnadh o'n chreig,
Sheas aireach nan treud 's e gun sunnd,

A chridhe le f6irneart fo smal.
O'n fhireach, 'bha comhdaicht' le fraocb,

An t-aosda thug suil air an loch
'Bha luasgadh le iomairt na gaoith,

'S a' bualadh air cladach gun chlos.
Air uachdar na tuinne air traigh,

Far nach b' abhaist do bhata a bhi,
Bha long nan crann-arda na tamh,

'N a h-ioghnadh do 'n aireach 's d'a mhic.
Seach beanntaibh a ghraidh a's a ghaoil

De'n t-saoghal cha'n f hacaidh e dad ;
'S air dha bhi nis liath leis an aois

O'n sealladh cha'n iarradh dol as.
Bha na caoraich a' meilich r'a chluais,

'S na h-uain a' mireag gu mear;
Agus gobhair ag iarraidh nam bruach

'An t6ir air eaghann 's air cneamh.
Bha 'n gaodhar nach do dhiobair e riamh
. Ag iarraidh, le iomadh luchleas,
S61as aiseag d'a chombanach liath,

'S a chridhe ath-nuadhach' le gean.
Na chunnaic e dhriiigh air gu trom,

Agus Itib e 'cheann fo throm sprochd;
A dheuraibh bhruchd a nuas mar an tonn,

'S air a chlarsaich gu'n d' sheinn e mar so :—
"0 AlbuinnI slan leat, slan gu brath —

Am fh6g'rach 's diginn dhomhsa triall
O'n ghleann 's an d' f huair mi m'arach trath —

An tir 's an robh mo dhisleau riamh.
"Tha ainneart cruaidh 'gam chur air falbh,

A's tlr mo ghaoil cha'n fhaic mi 'choidhch,—
Cha till, cha till mi nail thar sail'

A chomhradh ri mo chairdean caomh.
Tha aois na h-uall ach orm 'tha trom,

'S mo chasan lag air chrith gu luath;

134

" Is forc'd the ocean's boist'rous breast to brave,
In a far distant land to seek a grave.
Thou dear companion of my happier life,
Now to the grave gone down, my virtuous wife!

" 'Twas here you rear'd, with fond maternal pride,
Five comely sons: three for their country died !
Two yet remain, sad remnant of the wars,
Without one mark of honour — but their scars.

" Contented still we rear'd, with sturdy hands,
The scanty produce of our niggard lands;
Scant as it was, no more our hearts desir'd —
No more from us our gen'rous lord requir'd.

" But, ah, sad change ! those blessed days are o'er,
And peace, content, and safety, charm no more:
Another lord now rules these wide domains,
The avaricious tyrant of the plains.

" Far, far from hence, he revels life away,
In guilty pleasure ; our poor means must pay.
The mossy plains, the mountain's barren brow,
Must now be tortur'd by the tearing plough.

" On you, dear native land! from whence I part,
Rest the best blessing of a broken heart.
If, in some future hour, the foe shall land
His hostile legions on Britannia's strand,

" May she not, then, the alarum sound in vain,
Nor miss her banish'd thousands on the plain.
Feed on, my sheep: for, though depriv'd of me,
My cruel foes shall your protectors be ;

135

Is beag a shaoil learn thar nan tonn

Gu'm feumainn dol a dh'iarraidh in' uaigk'.

Mo chelle, m' annsachd, mo bhean ghaoil !
Tha nis gu tosdach, balbh san uir,

Bu shona sinn 'n uair bha sinn saor
0 fhoill, o fh6irneart, a's o thnii.

" Ar cftignear mhac, mar ghallain ur,
'S a' ghleann so dh' altrum thu le gradh,

Ach aims an arfhaich thuit dhiubli triiiir,
'S tha dha air mhaireann treun mar bha.

"'Tha mic mo ruin gun chliu, gun duais,
Ach lotan ruadh nan sleaghan trom ;

Gidheadh le saothair 's faUus gruaidh
Fhuair sinn ar teachd-an tir o'n fhoun.

"Neo-thorach, cruaidt ged bha an raon
Bha 'mal ro shaor 's ar maighstir grinn ;

'Nsin fada uainn bha gruaim a' mhaoir,
'S am farduich chluthmhoir ch6mhnuich sinn.

"Ach, 0, mp chreach! ar n-uachd'ran dh'eug,

A's mar ris thr^ig toilinntinn mi ;
Oir thainig maighstir cruaidh 'n a dhdigh

'Tha 'g ?igneach' bhochd a's nochd o'n tir.

"Tha 'm m^l a tha e 'toirt o 'thuath
'G a struitheadh luath a re'ir a mhiann;

A sh6gh a's aighear rinn gach uair
Ar gairdean a riasladh gu dian.

"A thlr mo ghraidh! gach beannachd leat —
Beannachd mo chridh tha craiteach, goirt ;

Daingean gu'n robh thu 'n sith 's an neart,
A's gainne ghaisgeach ni'n robh ort.

"'Nuair 'bhruchdas do naimhdean mu'n cuairt
Biodh do bhratach a' srannraich 's a' ghaoth,

'S na miltean le'n stailinnean cruaidh
A' c6mhrag le neart air an taobh.

"Mo chaoirich ionaltraibh-se gun sgath,
'Ur giueil o'n t-sionnach bidh saor ;

Luchd mi-ruin stiuraidh sibh gach la
Air sgath am buaimachd shaogh'lt'.

136

" For their own sakes, shall pen your straggling flocks
And save your lambkins from the rav'nous fox.
Feed on, my goats: another now shall drain
Your stream, that heal disease, and soften pain.

" No stream, alas! shall ever, ever flow
To heal your master's heart, or soothe his woe.
But, hark ! my sons loud call me from the vale ;
And, lo ! the vessel spreads her swelling sail.

"Farewell! Farewell!" — Awhile his hands he wrung,
And, o'er his crook, in silent sorrow hung :
Then, casting many a ling'ring look behind,
Down the steep mountain's brow began to wind.

SPRING.*

With the dawning of Spring the song shall arise,
As the herbs spring anew under kindlier skies ;
All nature is glad, gone the source of her woe —
Hear how sweetly the strains of the choristers flow.

The Winter has passed from the climes of the North,
Instead of its chill breath the warmth issues forth ;
The hail- stones, so frigid in bleak other days,
Are dissolved in the heat of the bright solar rays.

The sun is now sending his radiance abroad,
From the East to the West on his high azure road ;
While the primrose, that erst was concealing its head,
Is decking with beauty the mountain and glade,

* The authorship of this Poem has been attributed to Dr. N.
M'Leod in consequence of our supposing that the initials, "O. T."
were but a mistaken transposition of "T. O." the well-known
signature of Dr. M'Leod. We had a communication from Mr
John White, Easdale, certifying that " Spring" is the production

137

"A ghobh'raibh breac o'n trie a fhuair

Mi cuachag bhlipchd gun inhoit, gun sgraing,

A dh' f h6gair easlainte o m' ghruaidh,
A's leis an d' f has mo chlann gun mheang.

"Ach locshlainte cha bhlais mi choidhch'
A sgaoileas cradh mo chridhe 'n cdin ;

Ach sguir, nio chlarsach, sguir a d' chaoidh,
Tha glaodh mo mhac ga m' ghairm o'n bheinn.

" Tha glaodh mo mhac ga m' ghairm o'n bheinn,

Na siuil tha togta ris an luing ;
Slan le m' bheanntan, slan le m' ghlinn,

Mac-talla choidhch' mo ghuth cha chluinn!"

Ag osnaich 's a' suathadh a lamh,

Sheall air gach aite car greis ;
'S o'n aonach a' tearnadh gu trhigh

B' iomadh suil 'thug an t-aireach air ais.

AN T-EARRACH.

'An toiseach an Earraich bidh an t-6ran a* fas
Mar chinneas na lusan am broilleach a' bhlais;
Tha nadur fas ait, dh' f halbh aobhar a bhroin, —
Nach cluinn thu na ceileirean 'sheinneas na h-eoin.

Tha 'n Geamhradh air teicheadh o'n Deas chum an Tuath,
'S an aite fuachd feannach am bias 'faotainn buaidh ;
'S na buidhnean chlach-mheallain bha sgaiteach o ch6in,
Air leaghadh gu tlas ann an dearsa na gr6in\

Tha 'ghrian nis a' sgaoileadh a gairdean a mach —
O'n Ear gus an lar tha i 'g iarraidh mar theach;
'San t-s5bhrag bha greis uainn a' folach a cinn,
Lo caomh mhais' tha 'breacadh a' mhonaidh 's na glinn.

of his brother, the late Mr Robert White. Through the kindness
of Mr Peter M'Naughten, Tullipourie, by Dunkeld, a gentleman
to whom we are indebted for many other literary favours, we
are enabled to give this English translation of " Spring," which
we are sure will be very gratifying to the friends of the author.

138

But Spring, though the battles of elements all

Have passed from the Highlands and plains of the Gall,

Yet think not of slumber, but stern vigils hold,

Lest they come like the ravens to ravage the fold.

The strong healthy ploughman is tearing the steep,
Overturning the sward in the furrow so deep;
The sower steps smartly dispensing the seed,
While after him closely the harrows succeed.

The bloom-buds of Autumn's fruit swell on the tree,
And the green hue of Spring tinges forest and lea ;
The ant-hill is stirring — the flies, with delight.
Disport in the beams that are shining so bright.

The thistle is stretching its spiky leaves out,
Defying the Winter to put it to rout.
No wonder the grass grows so rankly and full,
There's a sun in the heaven, and one in the pool.

The woods in the tempest that leaflessly sighed,
Are covered with blossoms, and leaves on each side.
'Tis pleasant aloft through their umbrage to peer,
While the hum of the honey-bee sounds in my ear:

In the Awe the fishes that ceaselessly play,
Are seeking the flies in the waterfall's spray ;
From the rock the otter is eager to spring,
From the depth of the pool the salmon to bring.

The goat is essaying to rise on the steep,
While teaching her young one so agile to leap ;
The lamb round the bushes aye sportively runs,
While its dam for it seeks by the brinks of the linns.

Round the high peaks of Cruachan the birds are in flight,
The strong- pinioned eagle, the raven, the kite;
In my ears the lowing of red-deer is heard,
And the song of the maiden a-milking the herd.

The sun now has set on the bright vernal day,
And gone to deliver the charms up to May;
I see Summer coming o'er mountain and tarn, —
There is joy in the valleys and woods of Muc-carn!

139

Ach Earraich, god chaidh uait na baidoil air chall,
'S a dh'f hag iad an Ard-thir a's comhnard nan Gall,
Dean faicill mar ghaisgeach, na smuainich air suain,
Mu'm pill iad mar f hithich a mhilleadh nan uan.

Tha'n t-airean gun ouslain a' reubadh nan cnoc,

'S a' tionndadh nan neoinean 'measg uir anns a' ghlaic ;

Fear eile gu surdail a' sgapadh an f hrois,

Agus each a's cliath-chliata nan deann aig a chois.

Tha bar-gucag an Fhoghair ag at air a' chraoibh,
A's lith uain' an Earraich a' sgaoileadh gach taobh ;
Tha'n tom-sheangan a' gluasad, 's a' chuileag gu mear,
A' dannsadh 's a' ghrian-ghath tha 'sineadh o'n Ear.

Tha 'm foghnan a' slneadh a shleaghan a mach,
Toirt dulan do 'n Gheamhradh ris pilleadh gu 'theach.
Cha 'n ioghnadh learn idir mar chinneas am feur,
Tha grian anns an linne, 's aon eile 's an speur.

Tha 'choill a bha lomnochd a' feadail 's a' ghaoith
'Ga comhdach le duilleach, a's blathaibh gach taobh.
Is taitneach an sealladh bhi 'g amharc a suas,
A's srannan an t-seillein a' seinn ann am chluais.

'S an Atha na h-eisg tha ri mire gun chlos,
A' sireadh nan cuileag taobh geal-bhuinne cas;
'Sbeist-donn air sgbrr creige air chrith gu bhi shios
An doimhneachd 'an aigein thoirt bradain a riios.

Tha ghobhar a' faochnadh ri aodan a' chnaip,
A' teagasg d'a minnean an ealain air streap ;
Agus uan a' slor mhireag mu'n cuairt air a' phreas,
'is a mhithair ga shireadh mu bhruachaibh an eas.

Air ard uilinn Chruachain tha gluasad nan eun —
Am fitheach, an croman, 's an iolaire threun ;
'S gu m' chluasaibh tha 'tighinn ird lagan an f h6idh,
Agus ceolan na h ainnir 's i 'leigeil na spreidh.

Tha ghrian nis air luidhe air Earrach an aigh,
'S e le aoidh 'dol a liubhairt an ail suas do'n Mhagh;
Chi mi 'n Samhradh a' tighinn air uilinn nan earn,
'S gair ait anns na gleannaibh 's an coille Mhuc-carn!

140

fTHE WHOLE CREATION GROANETH."

I walked amid the forest where

The autumn wind had past,
And blighted all its wealth of leaves,

They shivered in the blast;
And as I looked there came the thought

Of that Eternal Spring,
Which will not have one faded hue

To mar its hallowing !

I marked the beast of burden,

Yea, the brute of ev'ry kind,
And man opprest it, though he boasts

A soul and lofty mind;
Yea, to my ears it seemed as if

From earth's life-teeming sod,
One loud and bitter cry of woe

Arose to nature's God.

I looked to man, and lo! his life

Was one continued chain
Of strife and sorrow, care and grief,

And ah! how much of pain!
Exposed to troubles from without,

A prey to foes within,
The cause and consequence behold

In sin — accursed sin!

I watched the Christian and beheld,

That though his serious eye
Was often kindled up to joy

By sunbeams from on high,
Yet doubt would cloud his brightest hope,

And his repentant moan
Was far the saddest tone that swelled

Creation's choral groan.

But there were moments when his faith
Seemed merged in actual sight,

And he beheld that glorious time
Through dark Creation's night,

141

rAN CRUTHACHADH UILE AG OSNAICH."

Na claisean flinch bha lionta suas

Le duilleach ruadh nan craobh,
A bha le gaoth an fhaoghair fhuair,

lom-luaisgte air gach taobh ;
An uair a dh' amhairc mi mu 'n cuairt

Ghrad smuaintich mi le h-aoibh
Mu theachd an earraich shiorruidh, bhuain

'S nam blath bhios nuadh a choidhch!

Chunnaig mi 'n t-ainmhidh saruicht', soirbh,

'S na bruidean balbh gu lelr,
Bho 'n duine 'fulang ainneart doirbh

Ged tha e 'n dealbh a Dhd;
Seadh, bha e dhomhs' mar aon chruaidh ghlaodh

Bho ghnuis an t-saoghail mu 'n cuairt,
Bha 'g elridh suas ri Dia, a thaobh

Am pdin 's an daorsa chruaidh.

Chunnaig mi 'n duine 's bha e ghnath

Gun fhois bho chradh no caoidh,
'S an acain throm na uchd a bha

A dh' oidhch' 's a la ga chlaoidh !
A mach bha uilc do-chunnt' fa sgaoil,

'S bha naiinhdean baoth a steach;
Am p6r 'san toradh, taobh ri taobh,

Dh' fhag glaodh a' bhr6in 'sgach teacli !

A thaobh a' Chriosduidh ghabh mi beachd,

Ged chite fois 'na ghnuis,
'S le solus, mar Jo neamh a' teachd,

Ged las gu trie a shuil ;
Gidheadh a dh6chas shiubhladh uaith',

'S cha robh aon fhuaim fo neamh
A leth cho mulaideach do m' chluais

Ri osnaich chruaidh a chle'ibh.

Ach bheirt' am brat corr uair a thaobh

Tha 'n traths* a' roinn nan sian,
'S an t-am sin chitheadh e le h-aoibh

Troimh dhuibhre oidhche tiom,

142

When this lost world will be again

To perfect bliss restored,
And every creature hail with joy

The presence of its Lord!

Bat oh! to him the sweetest thought

Was that his sin would be
No more a burden, and his soul

From its defilement free;
That clouds of unbelief and doubt

Could never, never come
To hide his Saviour, and obscure

His title to his home.

Oh! happy hour, when all will be

In strong alliance bound,
The mighty chain of Christian love

About each spirit wound;
When renovated earth proclaims

Decay and Death are o'er,
And praise is glad Creation's voice —

Her groan is heard no more !

THE LAMENT OF DAVID OVER SAUL AND
JONATHAN.

The beauty of our land lies slain,

On wild Grilboa's side,
Our mighty ones are fallen,

In their valour and their pride :
Tell not in Gath nor Askelon

That they are lying low,
Lest fierce Philistia's mocking maids

Be joyous in our woe.

Ye mountains of Gilboa,

Be never more on you
The showers and promise of the spring,

Nor summer's gentle dew !

143

'Nuair dh' aisigcar gu sonas buan

An saoghal triiagh so ris,
'S a bhios air inaitheas High nan sluagh

Gu h-ait a' luaidli gach ni.

Ach so an smuain a thog a chridh',

Nach milleadh ni gu brkth
An t-saorsa gheibheadh e 's an t-sith

0 pheacadh gniomh a's ckil;
'S gu cian nan cian nach &readh suas

Cuis rugha gruaidh, no neul
A dh' fholach gniiis Fhir-saoraidh uaith',

No 'ch6ir air suaimhneas n&imh.

Oh ! am an kigh 'n uair bhios gach treubh

Mar aon fo n£amh gu Idir,
Gach sluagh is cinneach a toirt graidh

Do Dhia 's do chach a chdil' ;
An uair a dh' digheas fonn a's cuan

Gu 'n d' sgriosadh uaigh a's has,
A's tuilleadh acain, p^in no truaigh,

Nacli bris air cluais gu brkth.

CUMHA DHAIBHIDH AIR SON SHAUIL AGUS
IONATAIN.

Tha mais' an t-sluaigh air beannntaibh garbh

Ghilboa sinnt' gun treoir;
Oir thuit ar gaisgich chumhachdach

'An kird' an tr^in' 's an g!6ir :
Na cluinnte 'n Gat no'n Ascelon

Gur h-losal cinn nan sonn,
Mu'n dean na h-6ighean Philisteach

'N ar br6n-ne uaill le fonn.

A shteibhtean krd Ghilboa

Na sileadh oirbh gu brkth
'S an earrach frasan gealltannach,

No druchd 's an t-samhradh bhlkth !

144

For on your steeps the royal shield

Was vilely cast away,
And dead amongst the countless slain,

The anointed monarch lay.

Foremost in fight the matchless bow,

Of Jonathan was bent,
Foremost in fight the fiery sword,

Of Saul destroying went;
Like eagles swift, like lions strong,

Their lovely lives were one,
And now, unparted in the grave,

They slumber, sire and son.

Daughters of Israel, weep for them,

Whose valiant hearts are cold,
Who gave the scarlet robes ye wear,

And wreathed your locks with gold !
0 Jonathan ! full sore I weep,

For thee, sweet brother mine,
For passing woman's love to me,

Was that dear love of thine.

How are the mighty fallen,

On high Gilboa's side,
In the thickest of the battle,

In their glory and their pride !
How are the mighty fallen,

On the red accursed field,
With bow and blade beside them laid,

And broken spear and shield.

THE TRUE HERO.

HE who would win a warrior's fame,
Must shun, with ever watchful aim,

Entangling things of life;
His couch the earth — heaven's arching dome
IT is airy tent, — his only home
The field of martial strife.

145

Oir 's aim an sin 'chaidh sgiath an righ

A thilgeadh sios le t&ir,
'Sa luidh am measg nani miltean marbh

Corp uasal, ungt' an t-sair.

Bha bogha buadh'or lonatain

Air thoiseach amis gach cas ;
'S air thus bha claidhcamh millteach Shauil,

'S na lorg chaidh sgrios a's bas;
Mar fhir-eoin luath, niar Ie6gh'naibh treun

Maraon bha 'rn beatha chaomh ;
'S a nis 'n an suain tha 'n righ 's a mhac,

Neo-sgairte, taobh ri taobh.

A nighnean Israeil deanaibh caoidh

Air son nan gaisgeach m6r,
A dh'eudaich sibh le sgarlaid,

A's a chrun 'ur cinn le h-6r !
0! lonatain, mo bhratlrir, a'd'dh^igh

Is gpirt mo dhe6ir 's mo chradh !
Oir b' iongantach, thar gaol nam ban,

'S bu taitneach dhomh do ghrkdh.

Cionnus, mo chreach ! air beanntaibh ard

Ghilboa 'thuit na sair !
'An aird' an gloir 'sam m6ralachd,

'S am builsgean dian a' bhlair!
Cionnas a thuit na cumhachdaich

Air faiche dheirg na stri,
A's sinnt' r' an taobh tha 'n sgiath 's an t-sleagh,

Am bogha 's lann, gun chll !

AM FIOR GHAISGEACH.

Esan a choisneadh cliii mar threun
Seachnadh le faicill mhaith 's le cdill

Gach ni bheir tuisleadh dha :
An lar a leaba, 's neamh nan speur
A phailiuim 'cumail sgail air fdin —

'S an arfhaich biodh gach trath.

146

Unwearied by the battle's toil,
Uncumber'd by the battle's spoil,

No dangers must affright;
Nor rest seduce to slothful ease;
Intent alone his Chief to please,

Who call'd him forth to fight.

Soldier of Christ, if thou wouldst be
Worthy that epithet, stand free

From time's encumb'ring things ;
Be earth's enthralments fear'd, abhor'd,
Knowing thy Leader is the Lord,

Thy Chief, the King of kings.

Still use, as not abusing, all

Which fetters worldlings by its thrall : —

With fame, with power, with pelf,
With joy or grief, with hope or fear,
Whose origin and end are here,

Entangle not thyself.

These close enough will round thee cling,
Without thy tight'ning ev'ry string

Which binds them to thy heart: —
Despise them not! this thankless were,
But while partaking them, prepare,

From each and all to part.

THE LATE PRINCE CONSORT.*

While bounteous harvest teeming o'er,
Its fulness yields on every hand —
While sweet the heather's purple bloom
With fragrance fills the mountain land —

* These beautiful verses, composed by the Rev. D. Fraser oi
Fearn, obtained the First Prize at the Northern Meeting Com-
petition in 1863. Mr. Fraeer very generously handed over the

147

Neo-clilaoidhte biodh e 'n d&gh na streup,
'S neo-luchdaichte le spiiill nan euchd,

Na btodh fo gheilt, no f hiamh ;
Na biodh le leisg no lunnd e mall,
Ach deanadh toil an Ti 's gach am

A ghairm e 's is e 'Thriath.

A shaighdear Chriosd, mu's rnaith leat f&n
Bhi airidh air an aiuin, na geill

Do dh'uallach trom na feftl' ;
Do chuing an t-saoghail thoir-sa fuath,
Oir 's e do Cheannard Triath nam buadh,

'S do Mhaighstir Righ na gl6ir.

Gu h-iomchuidh cleachd na fhuair thu mhaoin,
'S na bi mar aireamh mh5r de dhaoin'

Fo chuibhreach dha gach 15, :
Le h-aoibhneas, no le trioblaid mh6ir,
A' gairm an cuibhrionn deth 's an st6r —

Na bi-sa mar tha each.

Ged nach tarruing thu gach dual

An saoghal iadhaidh teann mu'n cuairt

Do chridhe chealgaich fe"in :
Air maitheas Dhd na dean-sa tair,
Gidhead^ 'n a mhealladh cuimhnich trath,

Gu'n tig gu gearr an t-eug.

AM PRIONNSA NACH MAIREANN.

'Nuair tha'm fogh'radh air gach taobh
A' taoinadh sips le tharbhachd Ian —
'N uair tha faile blath an f hraoich
Gu cubhr' a' sgaoileadh air gach Ihimh ;

Prize, One Guinea, to the Treasurer of the Tain Ragged School.
Ihe English translation is by Mr. Peter M'Naughtou, already
mentioned.

148

Who is she, the afflicted Fair,
Up Lochnagar that wends her way,
Her sorrowing face and weeds of woe
Attesting she has lost her stay ?

Who, bat Victoria, gracious Queen,
The merciful, the true, and just,
Bewailing on the mountain's brow
Her Consort lowly in the dust: —
"0! Albert, object of my love!
From the high place where is thy rest,
Dost thou behold me on the heath
With loneliness and grief opprest?

*'0ft here, my love, retired, alone,

By sheltering bens, 'neath heavens clear.

Hast thou in secrecy avowed

Thy love for me and children dear !

A widow I am left behind,

To shed the tear with heavy moan;

While they, in bitter accents, wail

A loving father from them gone.

"For, och nan och, the heart is cold
That oft beside me warmly beat,
All mute and silent in the tomb
The charming tongue without deceit. •
The lightsome foot, with buoyant step
That chased the deer along the steep,
Now stretched and stiff — ah ! utter loss !-
The grave and death in durance keep !

"0 ! what to me the crown I wear ?
Or palaces with splendour gay?
The while my heart is broken, bruised,
Because my Prince is in the clay !
I would resign my sway o'er realms
From sunrise to his going down,
To meet my husband on this hill,
As in the days of seasons flown I "

149

Co is' a' Bhaintighearn 'tha fo ghmaim,
A' direadh suas ri Lochnangar,
'S a tha 'giulan air a gruaidh
Dearbhadh gu bheil uaip' a sar?

06 ach Bhictoria nam beus,
Banrigh aghmhor nan ceud buagh,
'S i 'tuireadh air mullach an t-sleibh
A chionn a cdil' a bin 's an uaigh : —
' ' 0 ! Ailbeirt, annsachd mo ghaoil !
O'n ionad naomh 'sam bheil do thamh,
An leur dhuit mis' air lorn an fhraoich,
A' m' aonar an so fo phramh. ?

"An so, a ruin, is trie, leinn fdin,

Fo ghorm-bhrat speur, fo fhasgadh bheann,

A' chuir thu gu dlomhair 'an cdill

Do mh6r spdis dhomh f&n 's d' ar clann!

Tha mise a' in' bhantraich a'd' dh^igh,

A' sileadh dheur fo' osnaibh throm, —

Tha iadsan a' cumha gu'n d'eug

An t-athar gradhach, reul nan sonn.

"Och nan Och! tha'n cridhe fuar
A's trie a phlosg le luaths ri m' chl^ith ;
Gun smid tha tosdach anns an uaigh
A'n teanga' luath-ghaireach gun bheud.
Tha 'chos bu shunndaiche ceum
Air toir an fh&dh ri uchd nan earn
Gu rag, sinte — mo chreach l&r !
Fo chls do'n eug, fo ghlais a' bhais !

"0! ciod e dhomhsa g!5ir mo chrtiin?
Ciod dhomh liichairtean nan sr61?
'M feadh tha mo chridhe briste, bruit',
A chionn mo rim a bhi fo'n fh6id!
Bheirinn m' impireachd gu 14ir,
0 ^iridh gr^in' gu Tuidhe slos,
Air son gu 'n tachradh orm mo chdil'
Air uchd an t-sldibh so mar o chian!"

150

HARK! THE HERALD ANGELS SING!*

Hark ! the herald angels sing,
*'. Glory to the new-born king!
Peace on earth, and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled !"
Joyful, all ye nations, rise,
Join the triumphs of the skies,
With the angelic host proclaim,
" Christ is born in Bethlehem !"

Christ, by highest heaven adored !
Christ, the everlasting Lord !
Late in time behold Him come,
Offspring of a virgin's womb !
Veiled in flesh the Godhead see !
Hail the incarnate Deity !
Pleased as Man with man to dwell,
Jesus our Immanuel !

Hail, the heaven-born Prince of Peace !
Hail, the Sun of Righteousness !
Light and life to all He brings,
Risen with healing on His wings :
Mild, He lays His glory by ;
Born, that man no more may die ;
Born, to raise the sons of earth ;
Born, to give them second birth.

WHAT ARE THESE IN BRIGHT ARRAY?

What are these in bright array,

This innumerable throng,
Round the altar, night and day,

Hymning one triumphant song ?

* His Royal Highness, the late Prince Consort, set the foui
following Hymns to music some years ago. Translations of thes<
Hymns in Welsh, Gaelic, Irish and German have been publishec

151

EISDIBH LAOIDH NAN AINGLE NAOMH.

Eisdibh laoidh nan aingle naomh —

"Gl6ir do'n naoidhean an"t-ard-Righ!
Air thalamh Gras, us Tr6cair chaomh '

Dia do pheacaich 'tairgseadh slth ! "
Gach uil' fhine, treubh, 'us sluagh

Togaibh suas le h-aoibhneas crldh'
Ce61 nan neamh, an t-'6ran nuadh —

"Ann am Betle'm rugadh Criosd."

Criosd 'tha 'g aiteach' cliu nan neamh,

Criosd gu siorruidh Righ na Gloir,
Feuch cia h-iosal nis a gone"

'Teachd mar leanabh bochd na h-Oigh !
Sgaile thalmhaidh air a ghl6ir;

Grasmhor, solasach an sgeul,
'"Dia 'n a ch6mhnuidh anns an fhe6il,

losa fior Emanuel."

Failt' air Prionnsa caomh na sith' !

Failt' air losa Grian an kigh !
Slaint' us son as tha fo 'sg&th,

Beath* us solus do gach al.
'Mh6rachd chuir r£ seal fo sgail;

Cheannaich gras do chloinn nan daoin' —
Saors' o pheacadh 'us o bhas.

Beatha aghmhor, skuthainn, naomh.

CO IAD SO LE'N TRUSGAIN SHOILLS'?

Co iad so le trusgain shoills',

Sluagh do-aireamh, ard 'an gl6ir,

Ait a' seinn a la 's a dh' oidhch'
Taobh na h-altrach le binn-che6l?

last year by the Rev. Peter Maurice, D. D., Yarnton, near
Oxford. Through the kindness of the Rev. A. Clerk, Killmallie,
who translated them to Gaelic, we are enabled to give them here.

152

i; Worthy is the Lamb, once slain,

Blessing, honour, glory, power,
Wisdom, riches, to obtain,

New dominion every hour ! "

i
These through fiery trials trod —

These from great affliction came,
Now before the throne of God,

Sealed with His Almighty Name.
Clad in raiment pure and white,

Victor-palms in every hand,
Through their dear Redeemer's might,

More than conquerors they stand.

Hunger, thirst, disease unknown,

On immortal fruits they feed ;
Them the Lamb amidst the throne

Shall to living fountains lead :
Joy and gladness banish sighs,

Perfect love dispels all fear,
And for ever from their eyes

God shall wipe away the tear.

THERE IS A REST FROM SIN AND SORROW

There is a rest from sin and sorrow,

There is a land of perfect peace ;
In patience wait — a brighter morrow

Shall bid thy toils and conflicts cease.

0! not in vain the rain-clouds pouring
Their fulness o'er the thirsty earth !

They come, its faded green restoring,
They come to give new verdure birth;

0 ! not in vain the ploughshare driven

Down in the soft and yielding sod,
In furrows deep, designed of heaven,

Is cast the precious seed of God !

153

"JS airidh 'n t-Uau a fhuair am bas
Moladh dha 'us cliu a luaidh,

Umhlachd, urram, agus grkdh
locadh dha gach am 's gach uair !"

Slighe dhocair, annracli, sgith,

Shiubhail iad tr6 bhr6n 'us p&n;
'Nis tha iad mu 'n Chathair-lligh,

Sgeadaicht' ann an iomhaigh Dhd
Dealrach aun an dideadh nuadh,

Geugan pailme anns gach laimh,
'S e'm Fear-Saoraidh 'thug dhoibh buaidli

Thar gach buaireadh 'us gach namh.

Saor o dhlth o, thart, 's o thruaigh',

Craobh na beatha dhoibh mar 16n,
'High nan rlgh'— 'se Criosd an t-Uan—

Ni 'n tredrach' chum nan uisge be6.
S61as krd tha 'n kite 'bhr6in,

'An ait' eagail, sith, 'us gradh ;
Siabaidh Dia e fdin na de6ir

0 gach sail gu sior, 's gu brath.

. THA SUAIMHNEAS ANN.

Tha suaiinhneas ann o pheacadh 's ainbghar,
Tha tir 's am mealar agh, 'us sith ;

Feith le foighid, 's bhcir an Ik inaireach
Do shao'ir, 's do chath gu brath gu crich.

Cha 'n ann 'an diomhain tha nedil fhrasacli
A' taomadh 'nuas air fearann cruaidh ;

Is iad 'tha 'g urachadh a mhaise,

A' toirt dha beatha, brigh, 'us snuaigh.

Cha 'n ann 'an diomhain tha 'n craim-arain
A' deargadh talaimh leis an sgriob;

Tha 'n sgriob a's doimhne air a tarruing
Gu leaba-ghineil 'thoirt do 'n t-s\ol.

154

And not in vain the rod that chastens,
And not in vain the tears that flow —

With winged speed the moment hastens
When thou the need of all shatt know.

COME, WEARY SOUL.

Come, weary soul, and view the fountain
Where streams do flow to cleanse from sin

The blood, once shed on Calvary's mountain,
Has power to make the foulest clean.

Here mercy, grace, and love unceasing,
A feast provide for all who come ;

While peace and joy and light increasing
Attend them till they reach their home.

Beyond the veil, all labours ended,
A glorious band is now at rest,
With Christ, their Lord to heaven ascended,
In his bright presence ever blest.

THE HOLY SCRIPTURES.*

Here is the spring where waters flow

To quench our heat of sin ;
Here is the tree where truth doth grow

To lead our lives therein.

Here is the judge that stints the strife

When men's devices fail;
Here is the bread that feeds the life

That death cannot assail.

* jThese Lines, on the incomparable value of the Holy
Scriptures, with a Prayer for the true use of the same, were

155

Cha mh6 tha 'n diomhain geur-smachd Dh£ ort;

Cha'n ami gun aobhar tha do dheoir;
Is dliith a' mhaduinn anus an leugh thu

Leigheas d' anama anns gach br6n.

0 M' ANAM! FEUCH AN TOBAB, SLAINTEIL.

0 m' anam ! f euch an tobar slainteil

A nigbeas o gach uile smal !
'N fhuil phriseil a dh6irt Criosd 'n a ghradh dhuinn

Ni 'n neach a's graineil' aillidh, geal.

Tha Trbcair shloruidh 'n so a' sgaoileadh
Cuirm sh6ghmor do gach aon le 'n aill :

'Us bheir dhoibh sonas, sith, 'us saorsa
Air gach aon cheum gu 'n dachaidh kigh.

'S an ionad naomh — gach saothair crlochuaicht' —
Tha cuideachd ghl6rmhor 'nis aig sith,

'S le 'laith'reachd ait tha 'n Tighearn losa
A' toirt Ian aoiblmeis do gach cridh'.

NA SGBJOBTUIREAN NAOMHA.

'S e 'n tobar so o'n tig an sruth
A chiosnaicheas gach miann ;

'S e chraobh e air an cinn am meas
A bheir dhuinn neart a's rian.

'S e so am breitheamh chuireas cosg
Air dosgainn 's mi-run dhaoi ;

'S e so an t-aran bheir dhuinn neart,
'S am has am feasd cha chlaoidh.

prefixed to some of the earlier Editions of the English Bible.
The spelling is somewhat modernized.

156

The tidings of salvation clear
Comes to our ears from hence ;

The fortress of our faith is here,
And shield of our defence.

Then be not like the hog that hath

A pearl at her desire,
And takes more pleasure in the trough

And wallowing in the mire.

Read not this book in any case

But with a single eye ;
Kead not till you desire God's grace

To understand thereby.

Pray still in faith, with this respect,

To fructify therein ;
That knowledge may bring this effect,

To mortify thy sin.

Then happy thou in all thy life,

Whatso to thee befals ;
Yea, doubly happy shalt thou be

When God by death thee calls.

X AWAKE, MY SOUL.

AWAKE, my soul! and with the sun
Thy daily stage of duty run ;
Shake off dull sloth, and early rise
To pay thy morning sacrifice.

All praise to Thee, who safe hast kept,
And hast refresh' d me whilst I slept;
Grant, Lord, when I from death shall wake,
I may of endless life partake.

Lord, I my TOWS to Thee renew;
Scatter my sins as morning dew:
Guard my first springs of thought and will,
And with Thyself my .-pirit fill.

157

Tha sgeul na slainte 'tighinn gu'r cluair

A nuas uait fein gach am;
Daingneach 'ur creidimh f 6s tha 'n so,

'S ar tearmunn treun nacli gann.

Na bi-sa mar a' mhuc a gheibh

An neamhnuid fo a bonn,
'S a raoghnaicheas a h-eabradh fdin

Gu h-iosal anns a' pholl.

An leabhar so na leugh am feasd
Gun t-iirnuigh chur an aird;

'S an aslaichear leat gras o Dhia t
Air son a sholuis aigh.

Le creideimh guidh mar so, gach am,

Gu'm fas thu ann an gras ;
'S gu'n tugadh e51as air a thoil

Air peacadh searg 'us bas.

'N sin sona bidh tu fad do r£,
A dh'ainde6in mi-run namh;

A's sona bidh tu mar an ceudn'
'N uair thig ort f&n am bas.

DUISG THUS', 0! M'ANAM.

Duisg thus', 0 ! m' anam, leis a' ghrdin
'S imich air sligh' do dhleasnais f&n ;
Mosgail o d' airsneul, 's tairg gu suilbhear'
An lobairt-mhaidne do d' Chruithf hear.

G16ir do Dhia a ghle'idh mi slan,
'S a dh' uraich mi le fois 'us tamh :
De6naich, o'n uaigh 'nuair dh'&reas mi,
Beatha gun chrioch 'an riogh'chd na sith'.

Dh' locainn as ur mo bh6id duit fein;
Fuadaich mo chiont' mar dhruchd roi'n ghrdin
Stiuir mo thoil, 'us gldidh mo chridh',
'S le'd laithreachd fdin, 0 ! sasuich mi.

158

Direct, control, suggest this day,
All I design, or do, or say,
That all my pow'rs with all their might,
In Thy sole glory may unite.

Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him, above angelic host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

KOCK OF AGES.*

Rock of ages! cleft for me!
Let me hide myself in thee!

* The following translations of this popular Hymn have been
sent to us lately. The first is by Mr. Archibald M'Fadyen, a
native of Colonsay, to whose pen we are indebted for many'excel-
lent pieces, both in this and in the First Series : —

Ann an Carraig dhion nan al
Folaich mi am meud do ghraidh;
Biodh le cheile 'n t-uisg' 's an fhuil,
Tluith a nuas o d' thaobh mar thuil,
'Glanadh plaigh a' pheacaiclh uam :
Dean 's gach ni mi 'm chreutair nuadh.

Cha choimhlionar do lagh a chaoidh
Le deadh ghmomharan nan daoidh ;
Gun fbuarachadh ged mhaireadh m'eud,
'S a' ruith om' shuil gun tamh an deur,
Bhiodh iad uilo gun bhonn stath —
Leatsa saorar. 'sleatsa mhain.

Falamh tha mi tigh 'n dhuit dluth,

'Ad Chrann-ceusaidh 'mhain tha m' uigh;

Tha mi teachd a dhion mo nochd,

Dh' thaotainn prais 'smi anamhunn, bochd;

Neo-ghlan ruitheam chum na tuil,

Nigh mi, 'Shlanuighir, a'd' fhuil.

Fad 's a bhios mo laithean ann,
'S 'nuair a thig mo reis g'a ceann.
'N uair a theid mi troimh na neoil,
'S thus' a chi mi 'd chathair mhoir,

159

'S gach ni a their, no thig 'am bheachd,
Stiuir thus' an diugh 'an ge'ill do d' reachd,
Gu'n tugadh dhuit-se, mar is c6ir,
Gach run 'am chridhe cliu 'us gl6ir.

Molaibh-se Dia o 'm bheil gach sonas ;
Molaibh e 'f hineachan an domham ;
Molaibh air neamh, 0 2 single caomh ;
An t-Athair, am Mac, 's an Spiorad Naomh.

CARRAIG NAN LINN/

A Charraig nan Linn, air mo shonsa a bhuaileadh,
Dh'iarrainn-sa dlon agus fasgadh uait-sa;

Mo steidh 's mo dhion bi thus', a Dhd,
Folaich mi a' d' bhroilleach fein.

The following is by Mr. Peter M'Naughton, Tullipourie, trans-
lated from the version issued by the Scottish Episcopal Synod,
and inscribed by him to the Right Hon. W. E. Gladstone, as
an offering of heartfelt regard for his public and private worth.
The reader will observe that a stanza is omitted in this version.

'Chreag nan £1! 'chaidh sgolt' dhomh fein,

Folaich mi a'd' dhidean treun ;

Bithidh an tobar uisg is fuil,

Thuirling o do thaobh 'na thuil,

Do pheac' na loc dbubailt Ian ;

"Shaor' o fnearg 's gu m' dheanamh glan.

Eiric 'dhiol cha'n urrainn mi,

A'd' Chrois amhain 'm earbs do bhi ;

Ged a shruthadh choidhch' mo dheoir,

Ged bhidh rn'ieud gun chaochladh treoir,

'H-uile cha dean m' anam slan ;

'S Tusa shaoras, Thusa 'mhain.

Tri ghluaiseas m'anail ghearr le iuil,
'N uair a dhuineas has mo shuil,
'N uair thriallas mi gu saoghal cein,
An lith'r do chathair breitheanais fein ;
'Chreag nan Al! chaidh sgolt' dhomh fein,
Folaich mi a' d' dhldeau treuu.

160

Let the water and the blood,

Prom thy wounded side which flowed,

Be of sin the double cure;

Cleanse me from its guilt and power.

Not the labour of my hands
Can fulfil the law's demands :
Could my zeal no respite know,
Could my tears for ever flow,
All for sin could not atone ;
Thou must save and thou alone.

Nothing in my hand I bring,
Simply to thy cross I cling;
Naked, come to Thee for dress,
Helpless, look to Thee for grace;
Vile! I to the fountain fly,
Wash me, Saviour, or I die!

While I draw this fleeting breath,
When my eye-lids close in death,
When I soar to worlds unknown,
See Thee on thy judgement throne,-
Rock of ages, shelter me!
Let me hide myself in thee!

CHRIST ALL IN ALL.

Q. Kind teacher, may I come to learn

In this abrupt address,
By framing questions that concern

My endless happiness f
A. Yes, but if you would learn to run

The great salvation race,
Know that the name of Christ alone
Can answer every case.

161

Biodh an t-uisge 's an fhuil a tha 'srutbadh,
0 d' choluinn naoniha-sa a bhruthadh,
Mar leigheas dhomhs' araon bheir saorsa
0 chiont' a' pheacaidh 'us o 'dhaorsa.

Riar' cha tug mise, 's mi gun neart,
Dod' lagh 'tha iomlan, naomha, ccart;
Eudmhor a la 's a dh' oidhch' ged bhithinn,
Mo dheura br6in a ghnath ged shilinn,
Cha dioladh so mo pheacadh truaillidh,
Thusa mur tearuinn, romhams' tba truaighe.

Gun duais 'am laimh, gun ni r'a thairgs',
Ri crann do cbeusaidhs' tba mi 'n earbs',
Uait-sa, 's mi lomnochd, db' iarrainn c6mbdacb,
Uait-sa, 's mi anmbunn, db' iarrainn c6mbnadb ;
An tobar, 's mi truaillidh, ruiginn le solas;
Mur glan tbusa f&n mi, tba mi gun d6cbas.

Fhad 's a tha 'm chridhe de6, no pl6sg,

'N uair dhuineas fuar-la 'bhais mo rosg,

'N uair shiiibhlas mo spiorad do'n t-siorruidheachd

'S a chi mi Tbu f£'m air cathair na gl6ir, [mhoir]

A Charraig nan Linn, air mo shonsa a bhuaileadb,

'N sin db' iarrainn-sa dion, agus fasgadh uait-sa.

CRIOSD NA H-UILE ANNS NA H-tFILE/

C. Ciod an t-e6las, fhir-bheatbachaidh 'n treud,
Bheir dbomb sonas nacb tre'ig mi gu bratb?

F. E6las creidimh air losa Mac Dhe',

'S e fhreagras do' d' fheum anns gacb cas.

* The Gospel Catechism, by Ralph Erskine, has been trans-
lated about fifty years ago by the Rev. J. M'Gregor of Nova
Scotia, and published along with " Dain a Chomhnadh Crabh-
aidh ; " but although it has been so long before our countrymen,
we believe that very few of them have seen the English of it.

162

Q. By sin my God and all is lost,
0 ! where may God be found?

A. In Christ; for so the Holy Ghost
Shows by the joyful sound.

Q. But how will God with sinful me

Again be reconciled?
A. In Christ, in whom his grace to thee

And favour is revealed.
Q. O! how shall I a sharer prove,

And see his glorious grace?
A. In Christ the image of his love,

And brightness of his face.

Q. Where shall I seek all divine store,

And without fail obtain?
A. In Christ, in whom forever more,

His fulness does remain.
Q. But how shall I escape and flee

The avenging wrath of God?
A. In Christ, who bore upon the tree

That whole amazing load.

Q. Alas! I'm daily apt to stray,

How shall I heavenward make?
A. Through Christ the consecrated way,

Design'd for thee to take.
Q. Ah ! where 's my title, right, or claim,

To that eternal bliss!
A. In Christ alone, that glorious name,

The Lord our righteousness.

Q. But who unfit can enter there,

Or with such nasty feet?
A. Christ by his blood presents thee fair,

His Spirit makes thee meet.
Q. May not my spirit, weak as grass,

Fail ere it reach the length?
A. Jesus the Lord thy righteousness,

Will be the Lord thy strength.

163

C. Chaill am peacadh dhomh Dia 's gach ni maith.

C'ait' am faigh mi dhomh fdin iad a ris?
F. Ann an Criosd, o'n tha'n Spiorad toirt brath,

'S an sgeul ait a tha 'n siosgeul na sith.

C. Cionnas idir bhios Dia a's mi r&dh,

Oir 'sditidh mo pheacadh 'na lath'ir?
F. Ann an Criosd, far an taisbean e fein

A dheadh-ghean gu Idir dhuit, 's a ghras.
C. C' ait am faigh mi deagh shealladh a's roinn

D'a chuid ghrasan, 's d'an aoibhneas ro mh6r?
F. Ann an losa, a riochd agus 'oighr'

Anns an soillsich gu dealrach a ghloir.

C. C' ait an iarr a's am faigh mi na Ie6ir,

De gach ionmhas a ch6mhnas ri m' shlaint' ?
F. Ann an Criosd gheibh thu pailteas ro mhor,

Oir tha easan an c6mhnuidh gle Ian.
C. C' ait an teich mi o'n chorruich ro gheur

A tha tuiteam gu l&r air mo cheann?
F. Dh'ionnsuidh Chriosd, neach a ghiulain leis fein

Comiich uamhasach Dhd air a' chrann.

C. Cia mar stitiirear mo cheumanna suas,

A's mi buailteach do sheachran a ghnath?
F. Is e Criosd an t-sligh' choisrigte nuadh

Anns an gluais thu gu direach an aird.
C. C'ait am faigh mi air flaitheanas c6ir,

'S air an t-s6las gun chrich a th' air n^amh *
F. Ann an losa an olanuighear mfrr,

'Se lehobha ar fireantachd e.

C. Cia mar nithear mis' iomchuidh air gloir,

'S mi co ne6-ghlan am shiubhal, 's am ghniomh ?
F. Ni fuil losa thu ceanalt gu Ie6ir,

Ni a spiorad thu b6idheach gun ghiamh.
C. Cia mar leanas mi 'n t-sligh e gu 'ceann,

'S mi co fann, 'us co aumhunn dhiom fcin ?
F. Bithidh losa 'na neart duit gach am,

'S cha bhi 'chobhair dhuit fann ann ad fheum.

164

Q. May not hellish hosts, and foes,

Sore by the way molest?
A. Christ is a friend to bridle those,

And give the weary rest.
Q. May not the guilty conscience brand,

And all my comfort chase?
A. Christ with a pardon in his hand

Can show his smiling face.

Q. But how can divine mercy vent,

Where sins are great and strong?
A. Christ is the channel, with descent,

That mercy runs along.
Q. But may not Justice interpose,

And stand in mercy's way?
A. Jesus did all the debt thou owe

To divine Justice pay.

Q. Where shall mine eyes the pardon spy,

Unto my saving good?
A. In Christ's free promise see it lie,

In his atoning blood.
Q. What ground have I to trust and say,

The promise is not vain?
A. In Christ the promises are Yea,

In him they are Amen.

Q. But where is Christ himself, 0! where,

With promises so sweet?
A. Christ's in the promises, and there

Thy faith and he may meet.
Q. Is Christ in them, and they in Christ?

How shall I this descry?
A. His blood and spirit therein list

To seal and to apply.

Q. 'Gainst legal fiery threats of wrath,

Pray, what defence is best?
A. Christ's full obedience ey'd by faith:

There should the guilty rest.

165

C. Cia mar chlaoidhear mo nairahde mu'n cuairt, ?

Daoin' a's deamhain 'g am bhuaireadh gun sgur.
P. Tre Chriosd bhcir thu tuilleadh a's buaidh,

Chuir e 'n ruaig air na naimhdibh gu tur.
C. Bidh mo chogais 'g am dhiteadh, 's 'g am chradh ;

Cia mar chuirear a cnamhadh air chuil?
F. Nochdaidh Criosd duit a mhaitheanas Ian,

'S chi thu faoilt agus gean air a ghniiis.

C. Cia mar ruigeas orm trbcair gu brath,

'S lionmhor, graineil mo pheacanna
F. Sruthaidh tr6cair troimh Chriosd ort a inhain,

'S pailte gras na do lochdan gu Idir.
C. Ach nach enrich an Ceartas le c6ir

Eadar trocair 'us niise am feasd ?
F. Fhuair an Ceartas o losa na Ie6ir

Arson d'f hiachan, 's bu mhdr iad gun cheisd.

C. C'ait am faicear learn maitheanas fial

Teachd o Dhia dh' ionnsuidh m' anma gun dail ?
F. Chi thu sud ann an geallannaibh Chriosd,

Am fuil los' a rinn rdite le 'bhas.
C. C'ait am faigh mi na geallanna fdin,

'Nan cultaic ann am f heum, 's 'n an cuis earbs' ?
F. Ann an Criosd tha iad uile gu l&r,

'Nan Seadh 'snan Amen; daingean, dearbht'.

C. Agus c'^it am bheil Criosd: Ochon! C'ait,

Le 'chuid gheallannaibh grasmhor gu l(^ir?
F. Gheibhar Criosd anns na geallaimaibh 'ghnath,

Chi do chreidimh e lath'ir aunt' gun bhreug.
C. Criosd 's a' ghealladh ! 's an gealladh 'an Criosd !

Cia mar chi mi gur fior sud le ch^il' ?
F. Leis an Spiorad bhi caramh fuil los',

'Us a gheallanna lionmhor riut fdin.

C. Ciod an dion a's an teancadh as fearr

Dhomh o bhagradh neo-bhaigheil an rcachd ?
F. Sealladh creidimh de'n iimhlachd chum bais,
1 A thug losa, an Slanuighear, seach'.

166

Q. But how shall faith be had? Alas !

I find I can't believe.
A. Christ is the author of that grace,

And faith is his to give.

Q. Ah! when may faithless I expect

He'll such a bliss bequeath?
A. He will of unbelief convict,

And pave the way for faith.
Q. Repentance must attend, but whence

Shall I this grace receive ?
A. Christ is exalted as a Prince

All needful grace to give.

Q. How can so vile a lump ©f dust

Heart-holiness expect?
A. Christ by his holy Spirit must

This gradual change effect.
Q. How shall I do the works aright

I'm daily bound unto?
A. Christ in thee, by his Spirit's might,

Works both to will and do.

Q. How shall my maladies be healed,

So sore molesting me?
A. Christ is the great Physician seal'd,

The Lord that healeth thee.
Q. By prayer I ought to seek his face,

This course how shall I drive?
A. 'Tis Christ alone that has the grace

And spirit of prayer to give.

Q. Salvation-work is great and high,

Alas! what shall I do?
A. Christ as the Alpha thereof eye,

And the Omega too.
Q. What pillar then is most secure

To build my hope upon?
A. Christ only the foundation sure,

The living corner-stone.

167

C. Innis co bheir an creidimh sin domhs',

'S mi gun tre6ir leis an cuir mi e 'n gniomli '
F. Cumaidh losa ruit creidimh ri d' bhe6,
Cheannard o thus gus a' chrich.

•
('. O; c' uin a.ghcibh an t-ascrcidDiheacli, mis',

Tiulac measail a' chreidimh o Chrio>d
!•'. X uair a leigeas e t' ascreidimh ris,

A's tu fiosrachadh fliocail 'n ad sglos.
0. Bidh an t-aithreachas feu mail gach la,

Tia mar gheibh raise cail da co buan?
F. llheibh o Chriosd, chaidh mar cheannard an aird,

( Iwin an gras sin thoirt seachad d'a shluagh.

C. Am faigh amhlair co truaillidh, 's co baoth,

Glanadh cridhe, a's naomhachd gun sgle6 l.
F. Gheibh ; ni Criosd, an Lighich' tha saor,

Chuid a chuid ort an caochladh sin f6s.
C. Cia mar ni mi na h-oibre gu deas

Tha mar dhleasdanas orm leis an reachd?
F. Bithidh Criosd annad 'g oibreach' le treis'

'I'nil a's gniomh gu do leas chur an cleachd'.

C. Cia mar dh' fheudar mo leigheas gu brath,

A's mi galarach, graineil, ro bhruit' ?
F. Bithidh Criosd duit na Lighich' bheir ban,

'Se an Tighearn' a shlanuicheas tu.
C. Seol mi cionnas a dh'iarras mi 'ghnuis,

A's mo chridhe 's mo dburachd co marbh.
F. Doirtidh Criosd ort an Spiorad gu dluth,

Gu do she6ladh chum urnuigh gun chealg.

C. 'S an-mhor ard m' obair slaint' tharum fein,

Ciod ni mis',. 's mi gun fheum a's gun stath?
F. Togaidh Criosd diot gach eallach gu Idir ;

'S easan Alpha 's Ome'ga na slaint'.
C. C'ait am faigh mi deadh bhunchar do m' earbs',

Chum nach dirich i calm agus meallt'?
F. Ann an Criosd, a* Chlach-bhuinn a tha dearbht',

Ris an c6ir dhuit bhi leanmhuinn gu teanu.

168

Q. When I'm with black pollution stained

How shall I cleansed be?
A. Christ is a fountain for that end

Set open wide for thee.
Q. What shall I do when plagues abouiW

With sorrows, griefs, and fears?*
A. Christ has a balsom for thy wounds,

A bottle for thy tears.

Q. But is there any help for one

That utterly is lost?
A. Christ saves from sin, and he alone.

Even to the uttermost.
Q. But where shall I be safe at last

From hell and endless death?
A. Christ is a refuge from the blast

Of everlasting wrath.

Q. May not even natural death to me

Become a dreadful thing?
A. Christ by his death in love to thee

Did every death unsting.
Q. Why, Sir, is Christ the whole you say?

No answer else I find.
A. Because, were Christ our all away.

There's nothing left behind.

Q. How can he answer ev'ry case,

And help in ev'ry thrall?
A. Because he is the Lord of grace,

Jehovah all in all.
Q. How is he present to supply,

And to relieve us thus?
A. Because his glorious name is nigh,

Immanuel, God with us.

Q. Has he alone all pow'r to save,

Is nothing left to man?
A. Yea, without Christ we nothing have,

Without him nothing can.

169

C. Cia mar gheibh mi an sal chuir air falbh,

'N uair a thuiteas mi 'n salchar ro gbrand?
F. 'S tobar glanaidh fuil Cbriosd le m6r thairbb',

Pailte r&db dlmit gach aimsir, 's gach tratb.
C. Ciod, mo cbreach I ma thig^plaighean ro mb6r,

Ma tbig brtm, agus eagal 5,'s airc?
F. Tba sar iochshlaint aig Criosd do gach Ie6n,

Agus scarrag gu d' dbeoir cbur an taisg.

C. 'S mis' am peacacb a's caillte 's an t-saogb'l,

Cia mar db'fbaodar mo sbaoradb o tbruaigh'?
F. O'n is Slanuigbear Criosd o gacb gaoid,

Bheir e saorsa gu b-iomlaineachd uaith'.
C. Tba mo gbeilt roimb thein' ifrinn ro mb6r,

Am bbeil docbas gu 'n saorar mi uaip' ?
F. Bitbidh Criosd duit 'na fbasgadh fa-dbe6idb,

0 gacb d6ruinn, 's o'n cborruicb tba buan.

C. Cba bbeag m' eagal, a's m' tiambunn roimb 'n

Cia mar tbdid mi le danacbd 'na choir?
F. Thugadh 'n gatb as le losa 'na ghradb,

'N uair a db'eug e 'nad aite le de6in.
C. Cia mar fhreagaireas Criosd anns gacb cas,

Anns gacb cor, a's gacb sas a tbig oirnn?
F. 'Se is Uil' anns na h-uile de'n t-slaint',

'S e lebobba, Ian grais agus g!6ir.

C. Cia mar db' flieudas e 'n c6mbnuidb bbi latb'ir,

A tboirt slaint' agus teasairginn duinn?
F. O'n is fagus 'ainm gl6irmbor a ghuatb,

Imanuel, Dia maille ruinn.
C. A's an coi'lion e dhombsa an t-slaint'

Gun dad f hagail an taice rium fe'in ?
F. Cba dean thusa as 'eugmhais-san stath,

Tha do cbail a's do cbornas ml-glileusd'.

C. Acb nach feud mi bbi riaracb' mo mbiann,
Ma iii Criosd domh an obair gu slan ?

Fk Sgriosaidh Criosd iad 'an ifrinn gu cian
'Bbios ag iarraidb ml-bbuil tboirt d 'gbras.

170

Q. May not some from hence take place,

And room their lusts to please?
If Christ do all, then very good,

Let us take carnal ease.
A. Christ will in flaming vengeance come,

With fury in his face,
To damn his foes that dare presume,

And thus abuse his grace.

THE CHRISTIAN'S FIRM BANK.

I have a never-failing Bank,

A more than golden store;
No earthly bank is half so rich —

How can I then be poor?
'Tis when my stock is spent and gone,

And I without a groat,
I'm glad to hasten to my Bank,

And beg a little note.

Sometimes my Banker, smiling, says,

" Why don't you oftener come?
And when you draw a little note,

Why not a larger sum?
Why live so niggardly and poor —

Your Bank containeth plenty?
Why come and take a one pound note,

When you might have a twenty!

"'Yea twenty thousand, ten times told,

Is but a trifling sum
To what your Father has laid up,

Secure in God, His Son.'"
Since, then, my Banker is so rich,

I have no cause to borrow;
I'll live upon my cash to-day,

And draw again to-morrow.

I've been a thousand times before,
And never was rejected;

171

C. Cia mar mheudaicheas m' e61as le gaol
Air an t-Slanuighear chaoin fad mo re* ?

F. Meas an coimeas ris saibhreas an t-saogh'il,
Bhi mar challdach, no aolach gun fheum.

TAISG-THIGH LAIDIR A1 CHRIOSDUIDH.

Cha bhrist mo Thaisg- thigh fdin ri m' bheo,

Oir 's fearr n' an t-6r a stochd ;
'S gun aon a bhos le leth na maoin,

Cha 'n fhaod mi fe'in bhi bochd.
'N uair theirgeas orm, 's a bhios mi 16m,

'S gun agam bonn a' ghr6it,
Learn 's buidhe ruith ga m' st6r, a chum

'S gu'm bleid mi punnd beag 6ir.

Mo Thaisgcir gr&idh their rium, "C' arson

Nach tig thu 'n so ni's trie'?
JS c'arson nach iarr thu barrachd m6r

Air punnd beag oir 'n uair thig?
'S c'arson a thig thu be6 cho truagh,

'Sdo Thaisg-thigh cruachta Ian?
'N uair dh'f haodadh tusa fichead punnd,

'Thoirt leat mar phunnd gach trath !

" S gun fichead mile 'mhiltean uair

Ach suim bheag, thruagh gun ag,
An coimeas ris na thaisg dhuit Dia,

Gu tearuint' fial 'na Mhac."
O'n tha mo Thaisgeir cho Ikn maoin,

'S gu'ri aobhar iasaid ann ;
Air m' airgead thig mi be6 gach la,

'S am maireach gheibh neo-ghann.

Mil' uair bha mis' an so air tus,
A's diultadh riamh cha d' f huair ;

172

Sometimes my Banker gives me more

Than ask'd for or expected !
Sometimes I've felt a little proud,

I've managed things so clever;
But, ah! before the day was gone,

I've felt as poor as ever.

Sometimes with blushes in my face,

Just at the door I stand;
I know if Moses kept me back,

I surely must be damned.
I know my Bank will never break —

No! it can never fail:
The firm — Three persons in one God —

Jehovah — Lord of all!

Should all the banks in Britain break,

The bank of England smash —
Bring in your notes to Zion's Bank,

You'll surely have your cash.
And if you have but one small note,

Fear not to bring it in;
Come boldly to his throne of grace —

The Banker is within.

All forged notes will be refused,

Man-merits are rejected;
There's not a single note will pass,

That God has not accepted.
*Tis only those beloved of God,

Redeem'd by precious blood,
That ever had a note to bring — .

These are the gift of God.

Though a thousand ransom'd souls may say

They have no notes at all,
Because they feel the plague of sin,

So ruined by the fall.
This Bank is full of precious notes,

All signed, and sealed, and free,
Though many doubting souls may say,

"There is not one for we,,"

173

'S trie 'thug mo Thaisgeir dh6mh-sa cian

Os ceann na dh'iarr mi uaith' !
Dh' fhairichinn trie cus pr6is mu m' sgairt,

Mu ni bhidh scach le rian ;
Ach dh' fhairichinn fo oidhch' mo chor

Cho bochd 's a bha mi riamh.

Trie sheas mi 's rughadh air mo ghruaidh

Aig dorus fuar to phramh ;
Lan dearbht' na'n cumadh Maois mi mach,

Gu'in bithinn truagh gu brath.
'S e6l domh nach brist mo Thaisg am feasd-

Cha 'n urraiiin da gu slor ;
'S gur rian da 'n Triiiir ni 'n Dia ta m6r,

Ieh6bhah, — Triath gach ni.

Ged bhristeadh Taisgich Alb' le 'n 6r,

'S cuid Shasuinn fos 'n an smal ;
'An Taisg-thigh Shioin cuir do st6r,

'S ri d' blie6 bidh agad slan.
'S ma tha thu air aon phunnd ro bheag,

Gun gheilt cuir ann e seach';
Thig dana 'nis gu caithir grais,

Do Thaisgeir graidh tha steaeh.

Gach punnd 'bhios fallsa theid air chul,

A's diiiltar fearta dhaoin';
Ghabh Dia na puinnd ni feuin 's a' chilis,

Gu toileach riu gach aon.
'S e 'n dream a ghradhaich Dia 'na ghaol,

'Sa shaor le fuil an Uain,
A bhios an sealbh air st6ras fior

Do thiodhlac Dhd nan sluagh.

Ged their na miltean an'maibh saoirt',

"Tha sinn gun aon 'ni feum;"
Chionn plaigh a' pheacaidh a rinn Adhamh

A bhi 'g an cradh gu geur.
Lan phunnd le agh 's an teach so fdin

Deas seulaicht', saor gu Ie6ir,
Ged their daoinibh teagmhach, baoth,

" Cha 'n 'eil a h-aon ann d6mhsV

174

Base unbelief will lead the child

To say what is not true;
I tell the soul that feels self-lost,

Those notes belong to you.
The leper had a little note —

"Lord, if thou wilt, thou can!"
The Banker cashed his little note,

And healed the sickly man.

We read of one young man, indeed,

Whose riches did abound;
But in the Banker's book of grace

This man was never found.
But see the wretched dying thief,

Hang by the Banker's side,
He cried, "Dear Lord, remember me!"

He got his cash — and died.

SANCTIFIED AFFLICTION.

In summer's bliss all nature may rejoice
But man alone. With ever joyous song
And grateful praise, creation lifts her voice,
The floods hreak forth, the woods the notes prolong,
And seas in calm serenity reveal
The rich profusion which the earth displays.
But thankless man joins not the solemn peal,
He journeys on, and every bliss surveys,
But to Jehovah's name no grateful tribute pays.

But winter's wild and angry storm descends,
Presaging ruin in its doleful sound ;
Beneath its sweep the howling forest bends,
With blight'ning wrath it spreads dismay around;
And then, when ills on every hand appear,
And coming woes on every hand arise,
With holy awe and reverential fear,
Man lifts his suppliant, and his waiting eyes,
And on Almighty Power with steadfast hope relies.

175

As-creidimh dubh a stihras claim

A chantain rann nach fior,
Ma's leur dhuit, 'anaim, 'bin fein-chaillt

'S leat saibhreas plmnnd gu slor.
Bha aig an lobhar punnd dhiubh sud, —
• "'Dh<5 's urrainu duit ma's aill ! "
A's mhiith an Taisgcir e dha luath,

A's dh' fhas an truaghan slan.

Mu 6igeir araidh chuala sinn,

'S bna fheudail m6r 'na mhiann ;
Ach ann an leabhar Taisgeir grais

Bha 'ainm gun aite riamh.
Ach faic am meirleach truagh air crann,

Ri taobh a Thaisgeir fdin,
A ghlaodh, "'Dhd, cuimhnich onn 'am theinn

A's fhuair e mhaoin mu'n d' eug.

TRIOBLAID AIR A BEANNACHADHJ

Ri aileachd a' Ch6itein tha'n saoghal gu leir
A' cur maitheas an Tighearna gu h-eibhinn an ceill ;
Tha na tuiltean, 's na cuantan, na coilltean 's na glinn,
Gun airsneul a* seinn da le co! shcirm bhinn.

Ged chuala' mi chaithream cha do thog mi am fonn,
Ach dh' imich mi romham gu neo-shunntach, trom,
Gun urram, gun ghridh, 's gun f hiugbantachd cridh'
Do 'n Dia sin a chomhduich le ailleachd gach ni.

Ach'thiinig an geamhradh gu tartarra doirbh —
Theirinn an doinionn, a's dh' eirich an stoirm ;
A's theich mi gu h-anfhann a t-ionnsuidh-sa, 'Dhe,
Ag iarraidh ort fasgadh fo sgaile do sgeith'.

* This Poem and the one following it appealed in the First
Series, although not accompanied with translations. The Eng-
lish in the present case is more a paraphrase than a close trans-
lation. We are not at liberty to give the name of the gentleman
who so kindly supplied us with the English.

176

And thus the sunshine of unmingled joy,
By man may pass unnoticed. Every day
May be a day of bliss without alloy,
And brightest hopes may cheer his prosp'rous way ;
But yet each token of overflowing love
His heart to gratitude may ne'er incline ;
In full enjoyment he may onward move,
Regardless of the power and grace divine,
That on his radiant path its varied glories shine.

But, lo ! his path with sorrow is o'ercast,
Sickness and death encompass him around —
He pines in anguish, and affliction's blast
His fairest hopes has levelled to the ground.
Like Noah's dove he wings his weary flight,
But yet on earth no resting-place is given,
The void expanse still meets his cheerless sight,
Until at length, by pain and anguish driven,
In faith he soars on high, and finds his Ark in Heaven.

WHERE IS WOE?

Every path we can tread in this valley below,
Is encompassed about with affliction and woe ;
But though trials severe in each quarter abound,
There's no woe without hope all the wide world around.

The most pitiful outcast is not without stay,

On which to rely in affliction's dark day;

In the bitterest cup there are sweets to be found,

And some star gilds the midnight of darkness profound.

I've witnessed the sinner cloyed, wearied and spent,
'Neath a burden of wretchedness abjectly bent ;
But the sweet sun of Hope brightly circled his head,
And benignantly shone through the tears which he shed.

I've seen the afflicted with suffering outworn,
His moans were distressing, his condition forlorn ;
But courage remained in the eye that grew dim,
And the hope of new health was a pillow to him.

177

Thainig samhradh mo bheatha gu h-aoidheil 's gu grianach,
A's dh' imich mi romhan, — gach ni mar bu mhiannach ;
A* mealtuinn gach sochair, a's saor o gach dolas,
Ach fathast 's an Tighearn cha d' rinn mise solas.

Ach feuch ! thainig caochladh a bhroin air mo charadh,
Thainig le m' gheamhradh gach deuchainn a's anradh ;
A's ghluais mi gu silteach fo iargain 's fo bhron,
Gun chobhair, gun choinhnadh, gun eideadh, gun Ion.

Shiubhail mi'n saoghal gu h-airsneulach, sgith ;
Ach tha faoineachd a'sdiomhanas sgrlobht' air gach ni:
A's air uachdar an domhain cha d'fhuair mi cul-taic',
Gos'n do thill mi ri Dia, mar an caiman do'n Airc.

% C'AIT' AM BHEIL TRUAIGHE?

Tha gach sligh' air an gluais sinn an taobh so do'n uaigh,
Air a h-iathadh mu'n cuairt leis gach deuchainn ro chruaidh:.
Ach ged a tha air gach laimh ioma doilgheas a's dolas ;
Cha 'n 'eil anns an t-saoghal so truaighe gua dochas.

An dlobarach is laige cha Jn 'eil e gun taic'

Ris an earb e le misnich 'na amhghar 's 'na airc ;

Tha milse r'a fhaotainn 'sa' chupan is seirbhe,

'S tha reult a' toirt soills' anns an oidhche is doirbhe.

Chunna mi 'm peacach 'na airsneul 's na sgios,
Fo uallach na h-aing'eachd air aomadh a sios ;
Ach bha grian ait an Dochais 'na gloii^os a cheann,
A' dearsadh roi" dheuraibh, gu h-aoidheil 's gu ciiiin.

Chunna mi'n t-euslaint' fo iarguin 'ga chlaoidh,
Bu chianail a charadh, 's bu deis'neach a chaoidh ;
Ach bha misneach 's an t-suil a chinn lag-sheallach fann,
'S bha fiughair na slainte mar adhart fo 'cheann.

178

I've seen the poor widow with sorrowing bowed,
While the tears from her countenance gushingly flowed;
Without stay, without succour — with none to provide
For the children who piteously wailed by her side.

But she rested her hopes on each promise of love,

And rejoicingly hailed the day-dawn from above,

AVhen each heart shall be healed, when all sorrow shall cease,

And the loving shall meet in the mansions of peace.

And I travelled in fancy this wilderness through,
Its gloomiest deserts, and valleys of woe ;
But hope in each region gave strength in each plight,
As the sun in his course giveth gladness and light.

But I see fast approaching the full day of light,
The day that shall have neither twilight nor night ;
The hope of the righteous fruition shall know,
The wicked is hopeless — Lo! gladness, or woe.

A HIGHLAND WAIL.*

The dark mountain mist has wreathed round Quaillan ;
The Ban-shee has sung her dirge of wailing :
The mild blue eyes in the Dun are weeping,
For thou art away far beyond our keeping.

Return ! return ! return ! no never !
Mac-Crimmon 's away to return to us never !
In peace or in war return no never!
Mac-Crimmon 's away to return to us never !

The breath of the vale is faintly blowing;
Each river and stream is mournfully flowing ;
The birds on the boughs are perched in sorrow,
Since thou art away to return on no morrow.

Return, return, &c.

* Translated from the Gaelic by D. Grant Macdougall, Esq.,
and respectfully inscribed to Miss M'Kenzie of Applecross. At

179

Chunna mi 'bhanntrach, 's i slant' air an uaigh —
Bha na deuran gu frasach a' sileadh o 'gruaidh ;
'S i gun chobhair, gun taic' ach na dllleachdain mhaoth,
'Bha 'tuireadh gu leanabail, 's iad slnnte r'a taobh.

Ach rinn ise bun anns gach gealltannas graidh,
Agus sheall i le aiteas air maduinn an aigh,
Anns an siabar gach deur, 's an leighsear gach cridh' ;
'S anns an coinnich luchd-dilimh ann an dros na sith'.

Agus shiubhail mi'm smuaintibh an saoghal gu leir,
Troi'n fhasach bu duaichnidh, 's troi' ghleannaibh nan deur ;
Ach bha dochas 's gach ionad 'toirt misneach 's gach cas,
Mar tha 'ghrian anns gach ionad 'toirt soills' agus blath's.

Ach chi mi a' tighinn ard latha na soillse,

An latha nach tionndaidh gu feasgar no oidhche ;

Tha dochas an fhirean air tionndadh gu buaidh,

Tha'n t-aingidh gun dochas. — Feuch! iomlan, no truagh.

TUIREADH.

Dh'iadh ce6 nan stiichd mu aodann Chuilinn,
A's sheinn a' Bhean-shlth a torman mulaid :
Tha stiilean gorm, citrin 's an Dun a' sileadh,
0 n' thriall thu bh' uainn 's nach till thu tuille.

Cha till, cha till, cha till Macruimein ;
'An cogadh no 'n sith cha till e tuille ;
Le airgiod no ni cha till Macruimein ;
Cha till gu brath gu la na cruinne !

Tha osag na beann gu fann ag imeachd,
Gach sruthan 's gach allt gu mall le bruthach ;
Tha ialt' nan speur feadh gheugan dubhach,
A' caoidh gu'n d' fhalbh 's nach till thu tuille.
Cha till, cha till, &c.

page 138 of the First Series the reader will see an account ot
this well known "Wail."

180

The dark ocean heaves with dismal wailing J
The galley unmoored refuses sailing;
The voice of the wave is heard in sadness,
Singing this wail in mournful madness.

Return, return, &c.

No more in the Dun thy pibroch thrilling,
Is heard at eve love's fond heart filling ;
Each maiden and swain is sad in sorrow,
Since thou art away to return on no morrow.

Return, return, &c.

THE MARCH OF THE CAMERON MEN,

There's many a man of the Cameron clan,
That has follow'd his Chief to the field;
He has sworn to support him, or die by his side,
For a Cameron never can yield.
I hear the pibroch sounding, sounding,

Deep o'er mountains and glens;
While light springing footsteps are trampling the
'Tis the march of the Cameron men. [heath,

Oh ! proudly they walk, but each Cameron knows
He may tread on the heather no more ;

But boldly he follows his Chief to the field,

Where his laurels were gather'd before.

I hear the pibroch sounding, &c.

The moon has arisen, it shines on that path

Now trod by the gallant and true —
High, high are their hopes, for their Chieftain has said,

That whatever men dare they can do.
I hear the pibroch sounding, &c,

181

Tha 'n fhairge fa-dhe5idh Ikn br6in a's mulaid,
Tha 'm bata fo 'se61 ach dhiult i siubhal ;
Tha gair nan tonn, le fuaim neo-shubbach,
Ag radh gu'n d' fbalbh 's nacb till thu tuilleadh.
Cha till, cha till, &c.

Cba chluinnear do che&l 's an Dun mu fheasgar,
'S mactalla nam mur le muirn 'ga freagairt :
Gach fleasgacb a's oigh gun che6l, gun bheadradh,
0 'n tbriall thu uainn 's nach till thu tuille.

Cha till, cha till, &c.

CAISMEACHD CHLOINN-CHAMROIN.

Cha 'n 'eil oganach treun do Chloinn Chamroin gu leir,

Nach tdid de6nach fo bhrataich Lochiall ;
Gu buaidh no gu bas, 's bidh iad dileas 's gach cas,
Oir g^ill cha tug Camronach riamh.
Chuala mi plobaireachd, piobaireachd, piobaireachd,

Tighinn ard thar monaidh a's ghleann ;
Agus cas-cheuman eutrom a,' saltairt an fhraoich —
'S i caismeachd Chloinn-Chamroin a th'ann.

0 ! 's uallach an ceum, ged tha fios aig gach treun
Gu'm faod e 'bhi maireach 'san uir;

Ach gach armunn, gun sgath, theid le 'Cheannard do'n
Far 'm bu dualach dhoibh buaidh agus cliu. [bhlkr,
Chuala mi piobaireachd, plobaireachd, &c.

Tha 'ghealach ag diridh, 's tha 'gathan air ceuman

Nan 6igfhear tha treun agus fior;
'S ard d6chas an cl^ibh, 's thuirt an Ceannard e

Gu'r laoich iad nach ge'ill anns an strlth.

Chuala mi piobaireachd, piobaireachd, &c.

182

THE GRAVES OP A HOUSEHOLD.

They grew in beauty side by side,

They filled one home with glee;
Their graves are severed, far and wide,

By mount, and stream, and sea.
The same fond mother bent at night

O'er each fair sleeping brow;
She had each folded flower in sight, —

Where are those dreamers now !

One 'midst the forest of the West,

By a dark stream is laid, —
The Indian knows his place of rest,

Far in the cedar shade.
The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one,

He lies where pearls lie deep:
He was the loved of all, yet none

O'er his low bed may weep.

One sleeps where southern vines are drest

Above the noble slain:
He wrapt his colours round his breast,

On a blood-red field in Spain.
And one — 'o'er her the myrtle showers

Its leaves, by soft winds fanned;
She faded midst Italian flowers, —

The last of that bright band.

And parted thus they rest who played

Beneath the same green tree;
Whose voices mingled as they prayed

Around one parent knee!
They that with smiles lit up the hall,

And cheered with songs the hearth, —
Alas! for love, if thou wert all,

And nought beyond, Oh! earth.

183

UAIGHEAN TEAGHLAICH.

'Am maise chinn iad, taobh ri taobh,

Aon teach lion iad le 'n gair ;
Tha 'n uaighean dealaicht' feadh an t-saogh'il,

Air srath, air raon, 's aig traigh.
Am mathair sheall gu seirceil thart',

'N uair bha iad trom 'n an suain ;
'S an am ud bha gach aon diubh aic', —

Ach 'nis tha fada uaip/

Aig bruachan aibhne anns an lar,

Tha aon 'na shuain fo'n fh6id, —
A's e61 do'n Innseanach a theach

Fo sgail nan craobhan in6r'.
Tha annsachd chaomh gach aoin 's an gradh,

Gu tosdach 'n grunnd a' chuain :
'S cha 'n urrainn caraid caomh gu brath

Tighinn faisg le baigh air uaigL

Tha aon 'n a luidhe 's an taobh-deas,

'S an dean na figean fas;
A' bhratach shuain mu'n cuairt d'a chneas,

Air faich' an air 's an Spainn.
'S an Eadailt shearg i sios gu tur,

Fo 'n aileadh chiiiin 'us thlath,
An t^ mu dheireadh bha dhiubh sud, —

Am bannal caomh a's graidh.

A's sgairt mar so tha iad 'n an suain,

A chluich gu mear gach r6 ;
'S aig glim am parant' chuir iad suas

An achuingean le ch^il' !
ladsan a dhiiisg 's an talla gean,

'S mu'n chagailt 'sheinn an ce6l, —
Mo chreach! na'm b'e so crioch gach neach,

Bu mhuladach ar d6igh.

184

GOD.*

0 Thou Eternal One ! whose presence bright
All space doth occupy, all motion guide;
Unchanged through time's all-devastating flight.
Thou only God! There is no God beside!
Being above all beings! Three in One!
Whom none can comprehend and none explore;
Who. fill'st existence with Thyself alone:
Embracing all, — supporting, — ruling o'er, —
Being whom we call God — and know no more!

In its sublime research, philosophy

May measure out the ocean-deep — may count

The sands or the sun's rays — but, God ! for Thee

There is no weight nor measure: none can mount

Up to Thy mysteries; Reason's brightest spark,

Though kindled by Thy light, in vain would try

To trace Thy counsels, infinite and dark:

And thought is lost ere thought can soar so high,

Even like past moments in eternity.

Thou from primeval nothingness didst call
First chaos, then existence ; — Lord ! on Thee
Eternity had its foundation : — all
Sprung forth from Thee: — of light, joy, harmony,
Sole origin: — all life, all beauty Thine.
Thy word created all, and doth create;
Thy splendour fills all space with rays divine.
Thou art, and wert, and shall be! Glorious! Great!
Light-giving, life-sustaining Potentate!

Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround:
Upheld by Thee, by Thee inspired with breath!
Thou the beginning with the end hast bound,
And beautifully mingled life and death !
As sparks mount upwards from the fiery blaze,

* This Poem is said to have been composed by a Russian
named Derzhavin, who was born in 1763. It has been trans-

185

DIA.

0 Aoin Shiomiidh! air fad tha 'n fhailbhe chian
'An sealbh do laithreachd gbil, 'sgach car fo d' rian,
Neo-atharraicht' fad chuairtean millteach um' ;
'S tu mhain is Dia ! 's gun Dia eiT ann ach thu !
Bith os ceann gach bith ! 's Tu 'n Aon 'an Triuir!
'S Tu'n Ti nach rannsaichear 'suach cuimsicb duil;
Leat f&n a mhain tha 'chruitheachd Ian gu Idir,
A'd' thaice 'sfillt' ort tha gach ni, 'sfod' ghe'ill;
Bith ri 'n canar Dia, 's gun tuilleadh ciall co e.

Faodaidh feallsanachd, le ard-sgriidadh geur,
Doimhneachd na mara 'thomhas anns gach ceum,
Gach gaineamh, 's gach gath gre"m'; ach air do shon-sa,
Cha d' fhuaras inneal-tomhais. 'S neach cha te"id ['Dhd
Gu d' dhiomhaireachd; oir fheuchainn 's diomhain e
Do shoillse Reusain, ge d' tha laist' uait fe'in,
Do chomhairlean dorch' gun chrioch ashireadh;'sthe'id
Gach smuain air chall, mu'n ^irich smuain cho ard, —
Mar thiota beag air siorr'achd a tigh'nn gearr.

A seann neo-nitheachd ghairmeadh leat-sa f6in
Air tus dubh-aigeiu, an sin saogh'l; a Dhd
'S ann ortsa 'tha aig siormidheachd a stdidh :
Gach solus, aiteas, aonachd, uaitse leum ; [fhreumh.
'S leat gach uil' ailleachd ; 's beatha ; 's tu'n dearbh
Chruthaich 's cruthachaidh t' f hocal gach ni 'tha ;
'S le gathaibh naomh do ghl6ir' tha 'n fhailbhe Ian.
Bha, tha, agiis bithidh tu gl6rmhor, mbr,
Triath 'thoirt soluis, 'sa chumail beatha be6.

Mu'n chruinne-che neo-thoimhste tha do thre6ir;
'Ga chumail suas, 's 'ga bheothachadh le de6 !
An tus 's a' chrioch gu'n d' cheangal thu r'a cheil' ;
'S gu h-aillidh raheasgadh beatha 's bas leat f^in!
O'n lasair theirmtich uiar thdid sradan suas,

lated into the Japanese, Chinese, and Tartar languages. The
English translation is by Bowring, for his volume of Russian
Anthology.

186

So suns are born, so worlds spring forth from Thee;
And as the spangles in the sunny rays
Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry
Of heaven's bright army glitters in Thy praise.

A million torches lighted by Thy hand
Wander unwearied through the blue abyss:
They own thy power, accomplish Thy command;
All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss.
What shall we call them? Piles of crystal light —
A glorious company of golden streams —
Lamps of celestial ether burning bright —
Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams?
But Thou to these art as the noon to night.

Yes ! as a drop of water in the sea,

All this magnificence in Thee is lost: —

What are ten thousand worlds compared to Thee?

And what am I then? Heaven's unnumber'd host,

Though multiplied by myriads, and array'd

In all the glory of sublimest thought,

Is but an atom in the balance weigh'd

Against Thy greatness; is a cypher brought

Against infinity ! What am I then? Nought !

Nought ! But the effluence of Thy light divine,
Pervading worlds, hath reach' d my bosom too;
Yes ! in my spirit doth Thy spirit shine
As shines the sun-beam in a drop of dew.
Nought! but I live, and on hope's pinions fly
Eager towards Thy presence; for in Thee
I live, and breathe, and dwell; aspiring high,
Even to the throne of Thy divinity.
1 am, O God! and surely Thou must be!

Thou art! directing, guiding all, Thou art!
Direct my understanding then to Thee;
Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart:
Though but an atom 'midst immensity,
Still I am something, fashion'd by Thy hand !
I hold a middle rank 'twixt heaven and earth,
On the last verge of mortal being stand,

187

Mar sin leum grianaibh agus saoghail uait;
Mar gheal chrith-reothadh ann an gath na grdin'
Hi 16iseam timchioll sneachd tha feachd geal neimh,
'S a sh!6igh a' dealradh ann ad chliu-sa,

Tha muillean I6chran laiste le do laimh
A' triall gun sgios 's an aibheis gliuinn gach trath ;
'Toirt gdill do d' neart 's do reachd 'ga chumail slan,
Sgiamhach le beatha, 'sm6ralach le h-agh.
Ciod a their sinn riu ? Colbhan criostail geal ;
Cuideachd do shruthain ghlbrmhor oir gun f hal ;
L6chrain do adhar neamhaidh 'losgadh glan ;
Saoghail ghrian-shoillseachaidh le 'n gathaibh ait ?
Ach inar an r^ do'n oidhch' thu dhoibk air fad.

Seadh, mar bhoinne beag uisge anns a' mhuir,
Tha 'mh6rachd so air chall annad gu tur;
Ciod iad deich mile saogh'l r'an coimeas riut?
Agus ciod mise? S16igh gun aireamh n6amh
Ged chuirte iad deich mile uair am meud,
'S gach g!6ir is 6irdheirc' smnain 's an cur air rdin
Air meigh r' an tomhas iad mar dhadmunn crion
'N aghaidh do mh6rachd, a's mar sgail gun bhrigh
'N aghaidh bith-bhunntachd ! Ciod mise ? Neo-ni !

Neo-ni! Ach rainig sruth do shoillse bhe6
'Chaidh trid nan saoglml cian mo bhrollach f6s;
A'm' spiorad tha do Spiorad 'boillsgeadh dluth,
Mar dhealraicheas gath grdin' a'm braon do'n druchd.
Neo-ni ! ach be6, 's air sgiathaibh d&chaia 'leum
Gu dian gu d' laithreachd ; oir 's ann annad fdin
A ta mi be6, mo dhe6, mo thamh, 's m' ard dhdidh ;
Eadhon gu cathair do naomhachd. Tha mi,
0 Dhd ! 's gu cinnteach feumaidh tusa bhi !

Tha thu ann! 's gach ni 'g an steornadh leat gu l^ir ;
Se61 mo thuigse-sa do d' ionnsuidh fain ;
Ceannsaich mo spiorad, 'siomral mo chridhe stiur!
'Measg anbharrachd, 'snach ni mi ft^in ach smur,
Gidheadh 'sni diginn mi a rinn do lamb,
Eadar talamh 's n6amh tha m' inbhe 'n drasd,
Air oir mu dheireadh na bith bhasmhoir tha,

188

Close to the realms where angels have their birth.
Just on the boundaries of the spirit-land!

The chain of being is complete in me;
In me is matter's last gradation lost;
And the next step is spirit — Deity !
I can command the lightning, and am dust !
A monarch, and a slave; a worm, a god!
Whence came I here, and how? so marvellously
Constructed and conceived? unknown! this clod
Lives surely through some higher energy;
For from itself alone it could not be!

Creator, yes ! Thy wisdom and Thy word
Created me! Thou source of life and good!
Thou spirit of my spirit, and my Lord!
Thy light, Thy love, in their bright plenitude
Fill'd me with an immortal soul, to spring
Over the abyss of death, and bade it wear
The garments of eternal day, and wing
Its heavenly flight beyond this little sphere,
Even to its source — to Thee — its Author there

0 thoughts ineffable! 0 visions blest!
Though worthless our conceptions all of Thee,
Yet shall Thy shadowed image fill our breast,
And waft its homage to thy Deity.
God! thus alone my lowly thoughts can soar;
Thus seek Thy presence — Being, wise and good!
'Midst Thy vast works admire, obey, adore;
And when the tongue is eloquent no more,
The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude.

NEARER TO THEE !

Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee!

Even though it be a cross

That raiseth me;

Still all my song shall be,

Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee!

189

'S ro dhliith do'n riogh'chd 's an d' f huair na h-ainglibh
Direach air corsan tir nan spiorad glic' ! [bith,

Tha snathaiim bith' gu coimhliont' ann am chruth;

Annam-sa tha'n staid dheireannaich aig stiith;

'S e 'n ath cheum spiorad, — agus Dia a ri.s !

Ceannsaielmlli mi'n dealanach 'sgur duslach mi!

Is dia 's is cnuinih ! is truill mi agus righ!

( Ma as, a's cia niar 'tha mo theachd an so?

Co iongantach dealbli a's cur! gun fhios? tha'n clod

So be6 tre chumhachd diginn 'tha ro mh6r,

( )ir uaithe f&n cha b' urrainn e bhi be6.

A Chruithfhir, cliruthaich do ghliocas 'st'fhocal mi;

Seadh! Thus', a fhreumh na beatha, 'sa inhaith fhior;

'S tusa spiorad mo spioraid a's mo Fhlath !

Do ghradh 's do sholus lion 'n an lanachd gheal

Mi le anam neo-bhasmhor, a thoirt leum

Thar ghliun dorcha 'bhais, Vga chuireadh fdiri

E chaitheadh dideadh la sior, 's a dhol air sg^ith

JN a thuras n^amhaidh as an inbhe bhig

So, eadhon gu 'fhreumh, Thus' ughdar an sin.

0 'n sealladh aigh ! 0 'n smuain do chur an cdill !

Oir ged nach fiu ar beachdan ort gu Idir,

Seadh llonaidh t' iomhaidh fhaluichte ar cridh'

Gu snainh le h-umhlachd chum do Dhiadhachd shior.

Mar so mo smuaiutean-sa th^id suas, a Dhd, [threun,

'Shireadh do laithreachd. — 'S do d' Bhith mhaith, ghhc,

'Measg t' oibre m6r, le gradh, gu'n aor mi 'n geill;

'S 'nuair theld do'n teaugaidh labhairt 'an deas-chaiimt,

'An de6ir na taiugealachd ni 'n t-anam cainut.

NFS DLUITHE RIUT FEIN:

Ni 's dluithe, mo Dhia, riut fdin,
Ni 's dlMthe riut f din !

Ged bi dcuchainn na Cr6is'

'Mhpegladh an ddigli;

'S e fonn mo chridlie gach re\

Ni 's dluithe, mo Dhia, riut fdin,
Ni's dluithe riut fcin:

190

Though, like a wanderer,

The sun gone down,

Darkness come over me,

My rest a stone ;

Yet in my dreams I'd be

Nearer, my God, to Thee,

Nearer to Thee 1

There tet my way appear

Steps unto heaven;

All that Thou sendest me

In mercy given;

And angels to beckon me

Nearer, my God, to Thee,

Nearer to Thee !

Then, with my waking thoughts

Bright with thy praise,

Out of my stony griefs

Bethel I'll raise;

So by my woes to be

Nearer, my God, to Thee,

Nearer to Thee !

SUN OF MY SOUL.

Sun of my soul, Thou Saviour dear,
It is not night if Thou be near ;
0 may no earth-born cloud arise
To hide Thee from Thy servant's eyes.

When the soft dews of kindly sleep
My wearied eyelids gently steep,
Be my last thought how sweet to rest
For ever on my Saviour's breast.

Abide with me from morn till eve,
For without Thee I cannot live;
Abide with me when night is nigh,
For without Thee I dare not die.

191

Mi, *sa ghrian air dol fuidhe,
Seachranach fann,

An doille orm air luidhe,

A* chlach fo' m' cheann ;

An aisling na h-oidhch', a Dh<$,

Dh' iarrainn ni's dluithe riut f&n,
Ni's dluithe riut fein!

Paiceam an sin mo cheum

Direadh gu neamh;

'S gach ni dh' aithn thu dhomhsa
Teachdbhod'laimh;

Aingle 'g 'am thaladh le 'chdil*

Ni 's dliiitlie, a Dhd, riut fcin,

Ni's dluithe riut f&n!

'An caithris na maidne

'Dealradh a' d' ghradh,
Thig as mo chruaidh-chas

Betel an aigh ;
'Chum le m' amghar gu Idir
'Bhi nis dluithe, a Dhd,

Ni'sdluitheruitfe'm!

SOILLSE M' ANAMA.

Soillse m' an'ma, 'Shlanuighir chaoimh !
Cha'n oidhch' ach 'bhi d d' laith'reachd naoimh
Na ceileadh sgail thu choidhch o shtiil
D' 6glaich 'tha 'feitheamh ort le duil.

An nochd, 'n uair bhraonas cadal s6imh
Mu m' rosgan trom, mar dhruchd o neamh,
Mo smaointean shaimh b' e meud an aigli
A bbi gu siorruidh 'n uchd do ghraidh.

Fan thusa learn a dh' oidhch' 's a 16,
As d' eugmhais fdin cha bhi mi be6 ;
Fan learn 16 oidhch' mo thriall fadhe6idh —
Fo fhiamh a' bhais 's tu mhain mo dh6igh.

192

If some poor wandering child of Thine
Have spurned to-day the voice divine,
Now, Lord, the gracious work begin:
Let him no more lie down in sin.

Watch by the sick; enrich the poor
With blessings from Thy boundless store;
Be every mourner's sleep to-night,
Like infant's slumbers, pure and light.

Come near and bless us when we wake,
Ere through the world our way we take;
Till in the ocean of Thy love
We lose ourselves in Heaven above.*

"LOVE.ST THOU ME?"

Hark my soul! it is the Lord,
'Tis thy Saviour, hear his word;
Jesus speaks, and speaks to thee:
"Say, poor sinner, lov'st thou me?

* The following translation of this Hymn was given to us by
Mr. John Whyte, Junr., the translator of " Lochinvar," and
other pieces in this Series, and nephew of the late Mr. Robert
Whyte, author of the poem on " Spring," given at page 136 : —

A Shlan'ghir ghraidh, mo ghrian is tu ;
Cha 'n oidhch' ach I'd, 'n uair bhios tu dluth :
Na h- eireadh neula talmhaidh dumh'l
'G ad f holach 'mach o bheachd mo shul.

'N uair thuiteas dealt a' chadail chiuin,
'S gu seimh mo rosgan sgith gu'n duin,
Luidheam le solas Ian 'do'n smuain,
Gu brath bhi smnt' air uchd an Uain.

Fan learn o mhoch gu luidhe grein'—
Cha bhi mi bed as t-eugmhais f cm ;

193

Ma chaidh air seachran bh' uait an diugh
A h-aon de d' chloinn a dhiult do ghuth,
'Nis teasraig e, a Dh£ nan grks :
Na luidheadh e fo chiont' a' bhais.

Gldidh an t-euslan, bochdan riaraich

0 shaibhreas do lanachd shiorruidh ;

'S thoir tamh do luchd a' bhroin an nochd,

Mar shith-shaimh naoidhein chaoimh gun lochd.

'N ar diisgadh thig 'us beannaich sinn
Ar ceum troimh'n t-saogh'l mu'n gabhar leinn :
Fan, gus a'd' ghradh mar dhoimhne mh6r
'Shkr lionar sinn le ioghnadh gl6ir.

"AM BHEIL GRADH AGAD DOMH-SA?"

NO "AN TOIGH LEAT MI?"

0 m' anam, cluinn-sa guth do

'S e d' Shlan'ghear 'th' ann, r'a bhriathar disd;

Tha losa 'labhairt riut, 's ag radh,

"'N ann d6mhs', a plieacaich bhochd, tha d' ghradh ?

Fan learn 'n uair bhios an oidhch' a' fas,—
As t-eugmhais 0! na faigheam bas.

Aon leanabh seachrain bochd an diugh
Ma chuir, le tarcuis, cul ri d' ghuth ;
'N a anam toisich obair gras,
'Ga dhusgadh o chlos peacaidh 's bkis.

An t-euslan fair ; air bochd dean f oir,
Le beannachdaibh iieo-ghann do stoir ;
Biodh cadal luchd a' bhroin an nochd,
Mar chadal naoidhein scimh, gun lochd.

Bi leinn 'n uair dh' f hosglas sinn air siiil,
Troimh 'n t-saogh'l bi Thusa ar fear-iuil ;
Gus, ann an cuan gun chnoch do ghrkidh,
Am faighear sinn 'an rlogh'chd an aigh!

194

"I deliver' d tliee when bound,
And, when bleeding, heal'd thy wound ;
Sought thee wand'ring, set thee right,
Turn'd thy darkness into light.

"Can a woman's tender care
Cease towards the child she bare?
Yes, she may forgetful be,
Yet will I remember thee.

"Mine is an unchanging love,
Higher than the heights above :
Deeper than the depths beneath,
Free and faithful, strong as death.

"Thou shalt see my glory soon,
When the work of grace is done;
Partner of my throne shalt be,
Say, poor sinner, lov'st thoti me?"

Lord, it is my chief complaint,
That my love is weak and faint;
Yet I love thee and adore,
Oh, for grace to love thee morel*

* The following translation of this Hymn is by the late Mr.
Donald Cameron, Gaelic Teacher, North Uist. He left a large
MS. of Gaelic Hymns, original and translated, that is likely to
lie published: —

M' an am mosgail suas gun dail,
Cluinn guth Slanuigh'f hir do ghraidh ;
Riutsa tha e 'gVadh le sith,
" A pheacaich thruaigh an toigh leat mi ?

" '$ mis a dh' f huasgail ort 's tu'n sas,
'S ri do chreuchdaibn a chuir plasd', —
Thionndaidh thu o'd sheachran clith
'S thug dhuit eolas, slaint, a's sith.

'"N teirig curam caomh na mna'
Mu'n chiochran dh'altrum i gu Wath?

195

"Chuir mis' tlm saor 'n uair 'bha thu'n sas;
'N uair 'bha thu leoitit' rinn mis' thu slau ;
Is ])liill mi thu o <l' shcachran claou,
'Sclo dhuibhre riuu mar sholus caoin.

" An sguir an curam tairls, caomli,
A ghabhas math'r de 'clochran HKU>
A gradhs' ged sguireadh tur, 's a sj>.
Cha-n fhag mis' thusa chaoidh, 'srha, tr.

"Tha m' ghrklhs' neo-ehaochluidheach is buau,

Ni 's airde na na n^amhan shuas,

Ni 's doimhnc na an dohnhneachd shios,

Ni 's treis' na'm bas, saor, dileas, f ior.

'•'Mo ghloir-sa chithear leat gun clail,
'N uair 'nithear iomlan obair grais;
Is suidhidh tu a' m' chaithir-righ —
A pheacaich bhochd, an toigh leat mi ?"

A Dhd, is e mo ghearan truagh,
Gu 'm bheil ino ghradh cho f ami is fuar ;
Gidheadh dhuit bheiream gradh is gl6ir,
0 thoir dhomh gras 'bheir gradh ni 's m6 !

Feudaidh ise fks gun suim,

Ach bidh tus' gu siorruidh 'm chuimhn'.

" 'S gradh neo-chaochlaidcach mo ghradh's,
'S aird e na na neamhan ard,
'S doimhne e na 'n doimhne shios,
Dileas, treun, 's e saor gun chrloch.

Chithear leat mo ghloir gu luath.

'N uair bheir gras a mach a' bhuaidh ;

Suidhidh loams am Clmithir-ri^h, —

A pheacaich thruaigh an toigh leat mi? "

Thighoani' 'ae mo ghearan cruaidh,
Mo ghaol a bhi cho faun gach uair;
Gidheadh tha again dhuitse speis ; —
() ! thoir dhomh gris gu 'chur am meud.

196

ARGYLE.

Argyle! thou ancient seat of Alton's kings,

Whose warlike sons withstood the Roman arms,

Subdu'd the Picts, and spurn' d the yoke of Danes!

Long may thy hardy, hospitable race

Enjoy their mountains and sequester'd vales

In rural innocence! thy pastures clad

With herds and fleecy flocks, thy winding glens

With yellow corn, thy hills with waving woods,

Thy bounteous seas with all the finny tribes.

If more be needful, let thy frugal sons

Ply well the plough, the shuttle, and the sail —

The source of wealth, of elegance, and ease.

EARRA-GHAIDHEIL.

Earra-Ghaidheil ! tuinneadh righrean Alb' o chian,
A's ghaisgeach nach. do gheill do f heachd na R5imh ;
Ni m6 a striochd do chuinng nan Lochlunnach!
Gu ma buan a mhealas t' iarmad gaisgeil, fial
Do bheaimtan m6r', 's do ghleanntan uaigneach gorm'
'An neo-chiontas ; 's do raontan c5mhdaichte
Le caoraich 's buar, 's do shraithean fasgach blath
Le arbhar torach; do bheanntan ard le coille dhluth,
'S do chuantan fial le 'n tachdar maiseach e*isg.
A's tuilleadh ma tha dh'easbhuidh solaraidh
Do mine, le'n tapadh dhuit, air muir 's air tir, —
Bonn-stdidh* gach saibhreis, comhfhurtachd a's s6igh.

C. SALM.

[The following translation of this Psalm is by a gentleman in
Arran, whose name we are not at liberty to give. He is of
opinion that it is more faithful to the English than the trans-
lation given at page 84 of the First Series. Our readers can
judge for themselves.]

0 ! uile shluagh an domhain mhoir,
Seinnibh gu h-ait do Dhia mar 'sc6ir,

197

Le iobairt mholaidli togaibh ce6l,
'S thigibh an lathair Dhia na g!6ir.

Biodh agaibh fips giir esan Dia,
'S esan a rinn sinn, 's cha sinn fdin :
Caoraieh a thread da rireadh sinn,

in a bheathaicheas sinn gach re\

Le aoiblineas m6r air geataibh Dlie",
D'a arcs napmha thigibh steach ;
Ainni molaibh — seinnibh dha gach rd,
Oir 's ni e 's cubhaidh do gach neach.

C'arson? 'Tha 'n Tighearn' Dia ro mhaith,
Tha thrbcair buan gu suthain slor;
Sar mliaireannach bha fhirinn riamh,
A's bidh o linn gu linn gu f ior.

C. SALM.

[Here is another version of it by Mr. John Whyte, Jun.]

Gach uile thir air thalamh tha,
Seinnibh le iolach ard do Dhia;
Le aoibhneas deanaibh seirbheis dha,
'S le binn-che61 ardaichibh an Triath.

Tuigibh gur Dia lehobha treun;
'S e 'inhain a chruthaich sinn 's a dhealbh ;
Mar shluagh 'smar chaoraich f6s dha fdin,
Is leis-san sinn gu Idir mar shealbh.

Le buidheachas 'na lathair a steach
'Na gheataibh Mllidh thigibh dluth;
Togaibh, an cuirtibh naomh a theach,
ainm-san moladh ard a's cliti.

Oir tha an Tigheani' uiaith gu flor,
Gu bra th cha dlobair trocair Dhd;
Bidh fhirinn maireaunach gu slor,
Gun chaochladh buan o re* gu r^.

198

CBJOSD AN T-AON DIDEIN.*

losa, 'thug do m' anan gradh,

Gu d' uchd baigheil teicheam fdin,
'N uair a dh' direas tpnnan ard,

'S gaoth ro laidir tigh'un o'n speur ;
0 ! m' Fhear-saoraidh, falaich mi,

Gus an tdid an doinionn seach' ;
Sabhailte do chala sitli,

Gabh mi aig a' chrlch a steach.

Didean eile cba 'n 'eil ann ;

Biut tha m' anam truagh a taic' ;
0 ! na fag mi diblidh, fann,

Cum mi suas an am na h-airc.
Annad tha mo dhdchas teann,

Tha mo ch6mhnadh uait gu l&r ;
0 ! cuir falach air mo cheann,

'Steach fo dhubhar sgail do sg^ith'.

'S tusa 'mhain, a Chriosd, tha uam,

Gheibh mi uait na h-uile ni ;
Tog mi 'n aird' a's cum mi suas,

Leighis, agus tredraich mi.
'S ceart 's is naomha d' ainm gu brath,

'S mis' am peacach graineil, baoth ;
Lan de thruaill'eachd tha mi ghnath,

'S thusa Ian de ghras 'tha saor.

Agadsa tha pailteas grais,

Gras gu m' pheacaibh ionnlaid uam';
Eireadh sruthaibh be6 an aird,

Chum mo nadur dheanamh nuadh :
'S tusa mhain an tobar be6,

Thoir dhomh deoch ri 61 gu saor,
Ann am chridhe chuireas tre6r,

'S fad na slorr'achd mh6ir nach traoigh.

* The reader will find the original and a translation of th
well known Hymn, by Charles Wesley, at page 66; but th
translation, by Mr. A. M'Dougall, pastor of the Baptist Churcl
Rothesay, befng too late for insertion along with the other on<
we give here.

199

THE FALL OF THE LEA,

(FROM THE FRENCH OF MILONOW.)

The autumnal winds had stripped the field

Of all its foliage, all its green;
The winter's harbinger had stilled

That soul of song which cheered the scene.

With visage pale, and tottering gait,
As one who hears his parting knell,

I saw a youth disconsolate: —

He came to breathe his last farewell.

"Thou grove! how dark thy gloom to me!

Thy glories stript by autumn's breath!
In every falling leaf I see

A threatening messenger of death.

"O ^Esculapius! in my ear

Thy melancholy warnings chime: —

' Fond youth! bethink thee thou art here
A wanderer — for the last, last time.

"• ' Thy spring will winter's gloom o'ershade,
Ere yet the fields are white with snow,

Ere yet the latest flowerets fade,

Thou, in the grave, wilt sleep below.'

"I hear the hollow murmuring —

The cold wind rolling o'er the plain —

Alas ! the brightest days of spring
How swift! how sorrowful! how vain!

"O wave, ye dancing boughs, 0 wave!
Perchance to-morrow's dawn m;,

• In a note to " The Withered Leaves," page 118, a Gaelic
sionofthis poem is given. We were not aware till lately
t it had been translated by John Bowring for his

•hnlngy.

200

My mother, weeping on my grave: —
Then consecrate my memory.

"I see, with loose, dishevelled hair,

Covering her snowy bosom, come
The angel of my childhood there,

And dew, with tears, my early tomb.

41 Then, in the autumn's silent eve,

With fluttering wing and gentlest tread,

My spirit its calm bed shall leave,
And hover o'er the mourner's head."

Then he was silent: — faint and slow
His steps retraced: — he came no more.

The last leaf trembled on the bough,
And his last pang of life was o'er.

Beneath the aged oak he sleeps: —

The angel of his childhood there
No watch around his tomb-stone keeps,

But, when the evening stars appear,

The woodman, to his cottage bound,
Close to that grave is wont to tread:

But his rude footsteps, echoed round,
Break not the silence of the dead.

[Those of our readers who have seen the Poem on Spring by
Michael Bruce, will remember that it has much in common
with the preceding. The only marked difference between
them is, that Bruce sung his own dirge, but in this case it
is sung by another.]

A.- Sinclair, J'-Htiter, 62 Argyle Street, Gloxyov:

University of Toronto
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